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Philip Gross

“\The Art of the Shul Fight”\

I am always fascinated by people who wait all year for “Shark Week”in order to get their annual fix of sea predators. As a student of the human condition, our obsession with violent conflict both in nature and in the arena is a ceaseless wonder to me despite its predictability. That being said, if I were ever to pursue a PhD in Sociology and Anthropology it would most definitely focus on what I would consider the most glorious human struggle of all, the opportunity to witness man (and occasionally women) at their most primal, the notorious “Shul Fight.” There is nothing that gives me greater perverse pleasure than watching two grown, somewhat mature, often educated men (rarely but occasionally women) spiral into pugnacious conflict to the point of mouth foam while channeling their inner caveman (or woman).

I would posit that this is a strictly Jewish cultural phenomenon and based on my own personal experience and years of study within Jewish society, this straddles the orthodox-reform spectrum as much as it shows no partisanship between the Ashkenazi and Sephardi communities. There are no geographical or linguistic boundaries for the Shul melee as it traverses the globe in the Lingua Franca of its domestic locale, from China to Brooklyn and Yiddish to Ladino. Ironically, what would appear to be a signal of strife is what actually unifies us as a people and is a historically consistent theme.

Now there will be some gentile readers who insists that they experience a similar phenomenon around the holidays but let me assure you that the family spat around the tree is schoolyard antics compared to the rumble in the jungle that is a regular Shul fixture.

Like any society, our capacity for conflict is not novel but where we really stand out and dare I say shine, is the central role the Shul plays as our forum and arena for our vexatious displays. What is of even greater significance, is the cause and catalysts for our conflicts to reduce men who lead normal lives as doctors, lawyers, and captains of industry to suddenly find themselves locking horns in a battle to the death over the last piece of herring.

I am reminded of an incident to which I was a spectator to years ago which I can only describe as the World Series of Shul fights. I walked into a random Shul in a dark Jerusalem alley on a Friday evening some years ago, in search of some spiritual zen and found myself immersed in a haunting melodious Kabbolas Shabbos whose origins were from a millennia past. This reverie was abruptly disrupted by the sudden angry shouting that erupted in the row in front of mine. Although the language was foreign the gist was familiar, it seems that one gentleman had inadvertently sat in another gentleman’s regular seat. While under normal circumstances this misunderstanding would quickly pass with a profuse apology and a shuffle to the next available seat, this was Shul and Shul rules apply.

The altercation quickly escalated and reached its dramatic culmination when I kid you not, they pulled knives on each other. Ignoring the obvious questions as to who brings a knife to a Shul fight, I found the passion inspiring and as an avid fan and occasional instigator of the Shul fight genre, I was frozen in place as the drama played out. Fortunately, the Guernica tableau was rapidly defused with only some minor flesh wounds and minimal damage not counting the blood splatter on my finest white shirt.

As entertaining and personally gratifying as these altercations might be, they are clearly not just about the seat and a piece of dead fish, there is clearly something deeper at play here and this herring is obviously a red one. This got me pondering as to the origin of our culturally unique pugilistic Shul inspired character. What is it about Shul that causes men (and sometimes women) to blind fury over an open window, an especially long speech, too short Shachris, too long Shachris and the myriad of other pedestrian crisisies that outside those hallowed walls would fade into insignificance? To be clear, Shul fights in my vast experience, are never about actually critical issues, they are always about the mundane.

What actually motivates these conflicts to manifest themselves specifically in Shul and in general over such banalities? While at first glance, Shul fights might seem like trivial squabbles involving grown men clashing over a drafty window or a seat dispute, perhaps beneath the surface, these moments of tension reflect deeper conflicting polarities within our Jewish identity.

It occurred to me that ours is a religion of paradox. We are taught to question everything and simultaneously to accept all with blind faith. The Torah commands us to both love our fellow Jew and at the same time to harbor enmity for figures like Amalek. The Shul is where all these tensions come out to play as prayer is both an individual and personal connection with God and a collective experience within the community. The very structure of Shul, a communal space for personal devotion, creates the ideal grounds for friction over mundane details.

These petty disagreements symbolize something larger, the difficulty of balancing modernity within a community long bound by tradition. What if the Shul is the perfect crucible designed to host these clashes much as our saintly ancestors utilized the forum to hone their intellectual sparring skills that resulted in the Talmud? Perhaps the Shul fight is not an anomaly and we are just continuing a time-honored tradition of Jewish debate that has preserved and strengthened us across the ages, albeit ours tend to be slightly less Socratic.

The Torah itself is replete with examples of conflict, from sibling rivalries to constant rebellions against authority. We are a “stiff-necked people (Gods words, not mine),” prone to challenge norms and assert individuality, even in the most sacred of spaces. Shul fights, far from being mere spectacles, reflect this deep-rooted cultural dynamic. They represent the very dichotomy of Jewish resilience, a community that thrives on debate, where even the trivial becomes significant. In this way, these moments of friction, though seemingly absurd, are a testament to the vibrant and passionate nature of an active Jewish life, where unity and conflict can and do coexist in somewhat harmony.

About the Author
Manhattan born, London native, straddling both sides of the Atlantic with limited success in either. Mostly proud father of nine. Non denominational orthodox although occasional sinner. Business executive.
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