Jason
black belt
I started Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in the second semester of my senior year at Columbia. I had seen some UFC fights with my brother when I was a kid. We’d rent the tapes at Blockbuster. It was kind of cool, although it didn’t really interest me much at the time. But at my university, there was a flyer for jiu-jitsu that caught my eye. One of my floormates said, “Hey, we’ve got to try that.” So I went and Matt Serra was the instructor.
DW: No shit.
Yes. He was my first teacher. I remember the exact class he taught: three side headlock escapes. I fell in love right away.
DW: Because that used to be a finishing move. The side headlock.
Exactly. You’d hear, “Oh, he’s got him in a side headlock,” not realizing that’s actually not good. And I fell in love with it immediately. I started training at the university's jiu-jitsu club. Then people told me, “You have to go to the Academy.” Renzo was teaching. At that time, the main instructors were Rodrigo Gracie, Matt Serra, and Carlos. Later, John and Sean were there as well. I fell in love with it and started training every day, six days a week. It was wonderful.
I was at Columbia studying political science and pre-med. I had taken the MCAT and was in my second round of interviews, but I realized medicine might not be what I wanted to do. So I graduated and took a year off to intern with an attorney. Then I decided to go to law school instead. I was a criminal defense attorney for ten years. Federal trial and appellate work. I still have my licenses, but I don’t really practice anymore. I gave it up and became a whole-animal butcher for ten years.
DW: What is whole-animal butchering?
It starts with the farmer, working with good farms that raise animals well. When you bring the animal in, you respect every part of it and try to use it all. You educate customers that it’s not all about ribeyes and filet mignon. Then you make value-added products such as bacon, hams, charcuterie, salami, and sausages. Instead of industrialized butchery happening behind closed doors, you relearn a craft humans have practiced for thousands of years: breaking an animal down properly into beautiful cuts people can enjoy.
In early 2024, I left butchery and started teaching full-time.
DW: When did you get your black belt?
Renzo gave it to me in April 2007. I had been teaching the whole time. I took over the Columbia University program from Matt Serra when he opened schools in Long Island. I taught there from 2001 until the pandemic, about 18 years.
DW: You started jiu-jitsu in 2000 and began teaching a year later?
They needed someone. There weren’t many higher belts. As a blue belt, you could run a club and do your best. The Blue Basement itself was mostly filled with white and blue belts. Rodrigo, Matt, and a couple of others were brown belts, soon to become black belts. They were at such a high level. We didn’t even think purple belt was attainable. I figured I’d be a blue belt forever. There’s just so much to learn. You have to absorb it—not just understand technique, but translate it into skill and deeper concepts. And there’s character development. Jiu-jitsu shapes you. Some people aren’t ready for the next belt, not technically or personally. It’s not just about moves. It’s about who you are.
DW: I’ve had a relatively slow progression, but I needed to be humbled.
Purple belt is tough. It’s also the most fun. It was my favorite belt, and it’s a huge milestone; once you get to purple, you know you can get to black belt.
DW: Tell us about the old Renzo gym.
It was on 37th and 8th. Every time the elevator opened, you didn’t know what you’d get. Sometimes it was other martial artists looking for a challenge. Other times, homeless people or drug addicts wanting to fight. If it was some karate black belt looking to prove something, then fine; maybe you’d even get a new customer. There were incidents where challengers were choked unconscious, shoes left outside, and carried down the stairwell. But you didn’t want to fight someone unstable.
DW: Do you prefer gi or no-gi?
I prefer gi. But we trained a lot of no-gi back in the day. Renzo taught six days a week, mostly gi. Friday night, we’d switch to no-gi, and Saturday was always no-gi. A lot of fighters were visiting: GSP from Montreal, guys preparing for Pride, ADCC, and eventually UFC. So we did more no-gi than many schools at the time.
DW: Has the culture shifted over the years? Renzo fighting Pride, then the Danaher era, then Puerto Rico changed it again?
There’s more continuity than people realize. It wasn’t just one era. You had Daniel, Igor, Craig, Neiman, and other huge influences. They built competition teams and shaped the academy’s culture. John was one of my great teachers and a close friend since blue belt, but many other instructors were shaping things at the same time. That consistent belief in technique is empowering. It becomes an addiction. You want to see how far you can take it. And in no other walk of life would we meet. Doctors, lawyers, cops, graphic designers—we all share the mat.
DW: Lawyer, butcher, jiu-jitsu instructor. What’s next for you?
I’m very happy where I am. I competed a lot when I was younger, but I never loved competing. Now it’s about becoming a better instructor—technically better, better at connecting, better at listening. It’s about the younger generation now. Helping them grow. If I can be a better instructor, I can be a better partner and friend too.
Jiu-jitsu was always the common thread. I’d be in federal court at 5:30pm thinking, “I can still make jiu-jitsu.” If I couldn’t train, it was frustrating. When I was butchering, I applied leverage and technique principles from jiu-jitsu to the craft. I was at the academy six days a week anyway. Eventually, I thought, why not just do this?
DW: Have you ever had to use jiu-jitsu outside the gym?
No.
DW: Does it help with relationships?
Yes. You understand people’s struggles better. On the mat, someone may have had a bad day, relationship troubles, or poor sleep. You still have to interact with that person respectfully. You don’t just beat them up. You see vulnerability. It builds empathy. You become more patient and forgiving in life.
My wife Elizabeth trains too. She’s a black belt under Renzo. I tell her I still feel anticipation before class. I’m obviously not as nervous as I was as a white belt, with all those killers on the mat, but there is some apprehension. Yet after training, I walk out feeling like I can conquer the world. I could have arrived defeated, but I leave filled with joy. A great swelling of joy. Almost like a high, where you can’t suppress a smile. My mind is clear. I have so much energy. I feel that every single time I train.
This interview is part of the Murder Yoga Cantina series, which explores the people who make up jiu-jitsu culture.
