Want a whupping from Dmitriy Salita? The rising boxer will oblige — unless he’s praying.
Salita, 26, is not just a dedicated professional fighter, but a deeply observant Jew, who has married the two rigorous disciplines of punching and prayer.
“You’re supposed to bring godliness into everything,” he said last week as he prepared for his 29th victory, a 12-rounder at Madison Square Garden on Saturday night.
In a sport swarming full of eager unknowns, most of them black and Hispanic, Salita instantly stands out.
Following the path of many Jewish boxers in the 1920s or 1930s, he came to New York as an immigrant when he was nine and learned to fight so that he could stand up to bullies in his tough Brooklyn neighborhood.
Coming from a Soviet background his family was not religious, but he discovered faith as his mother was dying of cancer when he was 14.
Salita, strikingly gentle and polite outside the ring, became “Star of David,” the man his trainer Jimmy O’Pharrow describes as “looks Russian, prays Jewish, fights black.”
O’Pharrow, who has run the gritty Starrett City Boxing Club for three decades, cannot hide his affection for Salita — or his bewilderment at the exigencies of Orthodox Judaism.
The major problem is the suspension of any activity during shabbat, which starts at sundown on Friday and ends at sundown Saturday.
Friday is a key time for boxing, including lucrative slots on ESPN television, and even on Saturdays Salita will refuse to fight until dark.
“I gotta learn his angles, his religion,” O’Pharrow said, as his young charge stripped to underpants for the weigh-in on Friday ahead of Saturday’s bout — racing to finish before sunset.
“You can’t take pictures of him, wrap his hands, nothing until after sundown. He can’t fight Friday night, he can’t train on Saturday, and there’s 70 other days that are Jewish holidays,” O’Pharrow said. “You can’t even call him on the telephone.”
Salita says his violent profession and peaceful religion are not incompatible.
“Judaism is peaceful,” he said, “but boxing is not brawling. This is the sweet science, an art.”
Once in the ring, wearing Star of David-emblazoned shorts, Salita relies on earthly powers.
For his first professional fight at Madison Square Garden, Salita had hoped to challenge for the WBA junior welterweight title against holder Andriy Kotelnik.
That fell through and instead he faced an unheralded and tough Latino called Derrick Campos.
Several times Campos had him on the ropes, pummeling the New Yorker in the head and body.
Salita, a smooth mover, but not a heavy hitter, ducked, weaved, and struck back.
“Dima! Dima!” cheered enthusiastic supporters in the crowd, immediately identifiable by their yarmulkes. “Upper cut, Dima! Upper cut!”
The whack of gloves was audible at 30m, each blow to the head launching great arcs of sweat into the bright light.
After every bell, an un-Orthodox beauty, her dress barely covering her buttocks, paraded with the card signaling the next round.
At the 11th, Campos began with the sign of the cross. The “Star of David” hit him so hard that his mouth guard flew halfway across the ring. In the 12th, both men fought with abandon, fists blurring in desperate quest for points or knock-out.
Salita was declared winner by unanimous decision.
Boxing writer Scott Shaffer thinks Salita would probably “be further along in his boxing career if he had ignored his religion.”
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