25 Nov THE KUNG FU CHASSID: THE EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEY OF JACOB LUNON

When most people think of Kung Fu, they picture Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan shirtless, focused, and ready to take on some serious opponents. Rarely does one imagine an African-American man with salt-and-pepper dreadlocks and a radiant diamond smile. Yet that image belongs authentically to Jacob Lunon: Kung Fu master, actor, and Orthodox Jew living in Yerushalayim Jacob Lunon’s life reads like an epic- one that spans racism, loss, resilience, and spiritual awakening. Born into Jim Crow America, he later became an off Broadway actor and ultimately a ger tzedek, drawn to Judaism through the warmth of a Jewish family. Today a Breslov chassid living in Rechavia, Yerushalayim, he channels decades of Kung Fu mastery into a spiritual path rooted in discipline, joy, and emunah.

Just last week, Ari Hirsch from The Jewish Vues had the opportunity to sit with Jacob in his Rechavia apartment, finding him to be one of the most fascinating and compelling individuals he has ever met. His journey, from orphaned boy to Orthodox Jew, teacher, performer, and “Yetzer Hara Warrior”, is a testament to his strength, kindness, and the search for divine truth.

Please tell Jewish Vues readers about your fascinating life.
When the Torah speaks of widows and orphans, it says that Hashem has a special love for them and warns against harming them. Saying my life story is difficult, but here’s the short version.

I was born on Shabbat, the first of Av in 1954, right in the heart of Jim Crow America. My birth mother was only fifteen. Three days later, I was adopted by an African-American family deeply involved in the civil rights movement. My father was a World War II veteran and one of the first Black film directors; he fought Hitler abroad and racism at home.

Tragedy struck early. On my third birthday, at Eagle Lake, Michigan, the Ku Klux Klan attacked our family picnic. My father was struck by a rock while swimming and drowned in front of me. That moment shaped my entire life.

Afterward, my mother worked as a live-in domestic for the Kaplan family, a warm Jewish household that treated us like their own. Mrs. Kaplan introduced me to Shabbat.
When I asked why she lit candles every Friday night, she said, “When Jews light candles everywhere, it makes a ring of fire circling the world. It connects us all.” As a lonely child, that image of unity became my anchor.

I grew up between worlds: Shabbat with the Kaplans, church on Sunday, and a “technically integrated” Lutheran school where Black kids still sat apart. Shabbat, though, was where I felt at home.

My youth was marked by extremes. At thirteen, I saw a cross burning on my grandfather’s lawn in the South. The next morning, still in my pajamas, I flew back to New Jersey and walked straight into a friend’s bar mitzvah. That contrast, hate and holiness side by side, became a recurring theme in my life.

A few years later, after being attacked at a carnival, I met a Chinese-American boy in New York who introduced me to Kung Fu. Back then, non-Chinese students were rarely accepted, but I was welcomed. Martial arts became my lifelong path. I learned early that it wasn’t just about fighting others, it was about confronting what troubles you inside.

My teens were turbulent. After a principal called me a racial slur, I struck back and was expelled. A state investigation found him partly at fault and allowed me to attend any private school. I chose Windsor Mountain in Massachusetts, founded by Jews who had rescued children from Nazi Europe. Being surrounded by descendants of survivors deepened my interest in Judaism.

At eighteen, I enlisted in the Reserves. After completing my service, I met the legendary Stella Adler, who recruited me into her conservatory within minutes. From 1973 to 1975, I studied at her school. I went on to work as an actor in New York, married a Jewish woman, and had two children. From the outside, I looked successful, but inside, I felt empty.

On my birthday, also Shabbat, I was filming with Ernest Borgnine and other celebrities, yet felt so hollow I prayed, “Hashem, is this really all I’m here for?” I rejoined the military to escape my turmoil, was discharged on hardship, divorced, and threw myself into teaching and acting. I trained members of the Jewish Defense Organization, studied Tanya and Mussar with yeshiva students, and developed my philosophy of the “Yetzer Hara Warrior.” I tell students, “I’m training you to be a killer, but the weapon should be kindness.”

I founded Masada Dojo in Crown Heights, the first Orthodox Kung Fu school, and later Maccabee Martial Arts. Torah guided everything I taught. Still, I felt incomplete. One night, I cried out, “Hashem, show me why I was created or take me now.”

Not long after, a chain of providence led me to Seattle, where I performed a one-man show about the Civil Rights Movement that mirrored my own life. I toured schools and companies nationwide, teaching tolerance through theater. I thought I had found my purpose.

Then my plane crash-landed in Seattle after a landing-gear failure. I survived with back and leg injuries, and soon after, my adoptive mother died. My faith was shaken, but as I say, “The purpose of a fall is often to prepare the way for a spiritual climb.”

During that painful time, I met Talia, a widow whose strength rekindled my own. Together, we committed fully to Hashem and underwent an Orthodox conversion. It took years, and we faced serious resistance, even racism, from parts of the Jewish community. But we refused to give up.

“We fought a ten-year war just to be accepted as Jews,” I often say. “And in doing so, Hashem helped break chains of baseless hatred.”

Today, Talia and I live in Rechavia, Jerusalem, where I teach Kung Fu and Torah. The spiritual energy here is powerful. Whether Jew, Christian, or Muslim, everyone in this city has Hashem on their mind. You can feel Hashem in the air.

I dream of opening a Kung Fu Yeshiva, where Torah and martial arts strengthen body, mind, and soul. My teachings always return to humility, respect, and honoring parents, especially meaningful for someone who never knew his birth mother and lost his adoptive father to hatred.

Hashem gave me a way to express His Torah through martial arts. My weapon of choice is kindness. But don’t mistake it for weakness.

I credit Stella Adler and Shakespeare, especially iambic pentameter, with helping me overcome dyslexia. That rhythm taught me to think clearly and speak truthfully.

I eventually met Rabbi Lazer Brody, who became like a brother. I still pasken with him every Wednesday. That’s how Breslov entered my life.

Today, I teach acting and Kung Fu, perform Shakespeare, and host joyous Shabbat meals in my home in Jerusalem, where people of every background sit together around our table.

And now, in my seventies, the orphan who once felt connected to no one is helping others find connection through Torah, discipline, and compassion.

With emunah, I know I won’t be an orphan in the world to come. My mission is to ignite that ring of fire Mrs. Kaplan described, unity circling the world with Hashem’s light.

Did you ever meet your birth parents and siblings?
Two and a half years ago, after moving near Atlanta during COVID, a social-worker friend helped me search. I found a name, Charlotte
Sullivan Brown, but dismissed it because Sullivan was my wife’s maiden name. It turned out to be her. I found my youngest sister, though she first thought I was a scam. I had missed my mother by just 30 days. Later, I connected with my other sister, Shamaya Yisrael. We cried on the phone; she told me they always knew I existed because their grandmother had once blurted it out. A DNA test confirmed everything.

My youngest sister had MS and passed away last March. I stepped in to handle everything financially and emotionally. Now my surviving sister and I speak every week; I send her “Shabbat Shalom” messages. They’re not Jewish, more connected to Black Israelite circles, but we don’t make that an issue.

Please tell us more about how you met your second wife, Talia.
Talia and I married in 2001. She was religious but Messianic. I was working in a group home for at-risk kids in Washington. I mistakenly took the kids to a Messianic congregation
thinking it was Reform. Talia was the secretary there. We got to know each other, and six weeks later, we were married. I told her we couldn’t stay in that environment, so we entered a year-long Orthodox conversion program. The local rabbi didn’t like me- mainly because of my color- and held us back for nearly 10 years.

Eventually, a dayan, Rabbi Benamou, sent us to the Twersky community in Milwaukee. Rabbi Senderovic approved our conversion and personally ensured that no one would question it again. We returned to Seattle, joined multiple shuls, and later helped found a small Breslov shul. I also met Nissim Black (back when he was D Black) and brought him into our home for his first kosher meal. We became family.

What made you want to move to Israel?
Nine years ago, we made Aliyah. During an earlier trip for a friend’s wedding, nothing grabbed me until I visited Chevron. Climbing the steps to Ma’arat HaMachpela, I felt a wave of heat, almost fell, and burst into tears. I knew this was where I belonged. After a few more visits, we downsized and prepared to move. With help from friends and rabbis, we found an apartment in Jerusalem. The landlord’s family happened to know people from Seattle who spoke highly of us, and they accepted us immediately. We’ve lived there ever since.

Our home became a landing place for new olim from Seattle, around 50 people so far. We host them, guide them through Nefesh B’Nefesh, and help them settle.

What is your relationship like with fellow geirim, rapper Nissim Black and basketball star Amari Staudamire?
Nissim, Amari, and their families call me “Uncle.” Nissim’s last secular concert marked his transition to religious music. I held the chuppah at his wedding. My wife is a labor doula and delivered nearly all his children and his brother-in-law’s children. We traveled to Uman together. Our family is very close to Nissim’s family. We’re family. We went to Uman together numerous times.

Do you face racism in the Jewish world?
Yes- regularly. I deal with it calmly, with integrity and kindness. Most of it is ignorance, not hatred. Israelis can seem tough, but they’re usually very warm. Tourists are often worse. I respond with patience and, when necessary, assertiveness. My approach: kill with kindness.

How do you stay spiritually focused in a distracting industry?
I learn every morning. Currently, I’m learning Kesubos at the Breslov shul Rabbi Orbach built. I teach Kung Fu, teach the Stella Adler acting method, and perform in shows. My Hebrew is weak, but I get by.

What’s the hardest part of being Jewish?
Walking into a shul and ignoring the stares. After years of humiliation in Seattle, Shacharis is still hard for me; I usually daven it at home. Mincha and Maariv I do with the kehillah. Israel’s culture expects Black people to be laborers, athletes, or entertainers; I don’t fit the narrative. But my acting career here has flourished.

What are you working on currently?
I’m playing Yisro in The Prince of Egypt. I’m also forming a semi-professional acting company- the Stella Adler Group- to give actors fair pay. I’ve acted professionally for decades, done commercials, film work, and directed shows here in Israel. I love being able to work without worrying about Shabbos.

How do you deal with Kol Isha and acting with women?
It’s never been an issue for me. I grew up in the theater. My work brings people, religious and not, closer to Torah. My Shabbos table itself has changed many lives.

My father, Alan Hirsch, has been invited to your apartment for Shabbos meals numerous times and has enjoyed himself very much. He has mentioned that you host many different types of people each week. How do you approach hachnasat orchim in your home?
We try to truly embody the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim. Every Shabbos, we invite a wide variety of people from all walks of life. Even those I might not personally connect with, I still make a point to invite. Rabbi Ken Spiro, a Jewish historian involved with Aish HaTorah, eats at our home very often. We spend every dime we can on Shabbos to welcome guests, share Torah, laugh, and create a warm, inclusive environment. We don’t focus much on singing because of the diversity of our guests, but we always make sure everyone feels included.

That sounds incredible. How did this approach start for you?
When we first came here, I remember my Rabbi from Rockville, Maryland, Rabbi Benamou, he’s from Netivot and studied with the Baba Sali at 15, took Talia and me to meet a man called the Rindkin, known as “the X-ray,” who could analyze someone’s soul in seconds. We expected the usual 15 seconds, but he spent 30 minutes with us. For the first 15–20 minutes, he said nothing, just looked at us. Then he told us something astonishing: our souls were among the first converts that Avraham Avinu made. He warned me about an ayin hara and said I had to be careful.

Did he offer to spend time with you here in your community?
Yes, he wanted to come. But when we went out, his people asked for a phenomenal amount of money. I refused, saying, “You don’t do that to people with means,” and even made them apologize. I knew that if he had come, there would have been people lined up around the block, and it would have been a huge parnassah. Despite that setback, what he said about us was absolutely right.

How does that insight reflect in your Shabbos meals today?
Friends who made Aliyah 15 years ago and were Kollel Rabbis once told us, “You guys are like Avraham and Sara to the community,” because everyone has eaten at our table. People from all kinds of backgrounds come to join us. We make everyone feel welcome, and we try to address everyone’s needs and interests during Shabbos.

Do you have any rules or traditions that guests must follow?
Yes. I do have one strict rule: no one can do their own kiddush. I explain that the tradition comes from the Shtetl, where resources were scarce and everyone was for themselves. We are Sephardic, so we include everyone in the Kiddush. If someone insists on doing their own thing, they are separating themselves from the group. I ask them: are you a separatist, or are you part of Klal Yisrael I’m very straightforward about this, because the goal is unity, inclusion, and living the mitzvah of Hachnasat Orchim.

Is there anything else that you would like to discuss that we did not discuss?
I’m not great at promoting myself. My motto in life is: action speaks louder than words. For me, personal stories are the best way to reach people. I love storytelling because it lets imaginations connect in a way that facts and advice alone never can, it’s like studying the Midrash.

At my house, the Shabbos table is like a Midrash class. We dive into the Torah portion and explore how it applies, not just in general, but to your life, right here, right now. I try to connect everything to faith: faith that everything is for the best. Everything. Stub your toe? It’s for the best. Something unpleasant happens? It’s only saving you from something worse that could have happened.

Life moves forward, always. It’s like running up a down escalator. You have to keep going. Stop, and you might think you’re taking a break, but really, you’re moving backward.

That’s how I try to live, and how I try to teach: keep moving, keep learning, and always, always have faith.

FAST FACTS

Name: Born Bernard Lunon. As an actor, I even have an IMDb page under that name. Later, when I joined SAG and Actors’ Equity, I used the name JB Lunon. When I became Jewish, I took the name Jacob.
Age: 71
Born in: Toledo, Ohio. I stayed there until age seven, then moved to Englewood, New Jersey.
Why Englewood?
I was adopted at birth by a civil-rights family. My adoptive father was murdered by the Klan on my third birthday. My mother worked for a wealthy Jewish family, the Kaplans, who took us in and eventually helped us resettle in Englewood.
Current Residence: Rechavia, Jerusalem, Israel
Family: My wife, Talia, and I married in 2001 (we had both been married previously). Together, we have four children from our previous marriages.
Education: I was expelled from public school after an incident in which the principal called my mother the N-word, and I hit him with a chair. I won the case, and New Jersey paid for me to attend any prep school that would accept me. I went to Windsor Mountain in Lenox, Massachusetts.

I always gravitated toward theater, partly because of undiagnosed dyslexia. Playwright William Gibson became a mentor and sent me to study with Stella Adler in New York for two years. After that, I became a New York actor and later an acting coach at the Afro-American Studio for Voice and Speech in Harlem.

How did martial arts enter your life?
I started at 13 with Judo and karate. A Chinese friend introduced me to Chinese martial arts, and I fell in love with it. It kept me grounded as an actor. While others waited tables, I taught martial arts. Today, I am a 9th-degree black belt, a grandmaster, teaching Pai Lum Tao Po and Hung Ga (Tiger Crane System). I was inducted into the U.S. Martial Arts Hall of Fame in 2007.

I founded Macabee Martial Arts (formerly Masada Dojo) on Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, where I taught for the Jewish Defense Organization. That’s where I met Reuven Kahane, who gave me tefillin from the Kahane family.
Type of Chassidus: Breslov

FUN QUESTIONS WITH THE KUNG FU CHASSID JACOB LUNON

What’s your favorite part of being Jewish?
Shabbos

Who’s your favorite storyteller?
Rabbi Lazer Brody

Favorite Yom Tov?
Chanukah

What do you miss most about not living in the US?

Playing golf! They only have one golf course here, and it’s in the desert. Growing up, Black people couldn’t go to a country club or anything like that, so they had their own circuit called the Chitlin’ Circuit. That’s how I got interested in golf. And then, when I married Talia, her family, that’s all they did. My mother-in-law hit a hole-in-one. My aunt hit three hole-in-ones. They all lived on golf courses.

We’d have family functions surrounding golf. Aunt Petty was just niftar, but when we went to her house, everybody would bring $5. We’d put the money in the kitty, “kitty,” not “caddy”, and she had this slope in her backyard with a bucket at the bottom. Anyone who got three chips into the bucket before the night was over won the whole pot. And if no one did, the pot just kept growing and growing. This was family stuff.

Every Thanksgiving we’d go to Palm Springs. About 50 of us would rent out a resort and just party and play golf. That’s what I miss. I miss my mother-in-law, I miss my aunts, I miss all of that. Even though they weren’t Jewish, we always brought our own food, and they were very respectful. They were Irish Catholic, very, very respectful. I miss that the most.

Favorite Jewish musicians?
Nissim and L’chaim OG

What’s your favorite Jewish song?
“A Million Years” by Nissim

Favorite kosher food?
My wife’s Moroccan fish

Favorite masechta?
Kesubos

Favorite sefer for divrei Torah?
The Midrash Says

What skill do you wish you had?
Better Hebrew

Favorite Broadway show?

Years ago, I was in a show called The Me Nobody Knows. I was part of a small off- Broadway company, but I got the chance to see it on Broadway. The play was based on poems written by kids from Bed-Stuy, and I was lucky enough to play the lead. It was a musical, and the experience was incredible.

Favorite part of Shabbos?
Mincha – because after Mincha comes a nap

A person you’d love to meet?
Actor James Spangler (The Blacklist)

Someone you’d like to work with?
I would like to work with Tyler Perry, mainly because he creates content with a religious or spiritual message. I know it’s not Jewish, but I think I could connect with him because his work carries a positive message. It’s clean and uplifting. I appreciate anything—whether it’s Jewish or not—that elevates the human spirit and inspires people to rise above mundane thinking. I’m drawn to anything that uplifts and inspires others.

Who alive today best embodies Ahavat Yisrael?
Rabbi Lazer Brody

What’s the first middah to look for in a shidduch?
For women: how he treats his
mother
For men: how she treats her
father