To quote Shakespeare, writing of the death of the Thane of Cawdor in “Macbeth”: “Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it.”
So it was with Pope Francis, who died on the day after Easter – a day that celebrates not only the Resurrection, but the ultimate triumph of life over death. For those who saw the film “Conclave,” it is now a matter of life imitating art, as we wonder who will succeed Francis on the throne of St. Peter.
This rabbi weeps with his Christian friends.
One of those friends is Jon M. Sweeney, an an award-winning author whose books on Franciscan spirituality have sold a quarter million copies and who has written books on spirituality and mysticism as well. His book “The Pope Who Quit” was optioned by HBO. Check out our podcast on the legacy of Pope Francis.
Why does the death of the pope touch me, as a Jew? I cannot think of a pope who had the depth of relationships with the Jewish community as this pope had enjoyed. As Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, he had a close working relationship with the Argentine Jewish community. His response to the 1994 bombing of the AMIA center in Buenos Aires — until 2001, the most lethal terrorist attack in the Western Hemisphere — was notable for its compassion. He had visited synagogues in Argentina.
Moreover, he collaborated with Rabbi Abraham Skorka, the rector of the Seminario Rabínico Latinoamericano, in the creation of “Sobre el Cielo y la Tierra” (“On Heaven and Earth: Pope Francis on Faith, Family, and the Church in the Twenty-first Century“), which is the transcript of a series of conversations between the two men. For a while, it was Amazon’s bestselling religion book.
And yet, despite those warm relationships with the Jews, Pope Francis could be inconsistent. In August 2021, he preached that the Torah “does not offer the fulfillment of the promise because it is not capable of being able to fulfill it.” This was classic supersessionism. Judaism was the “old covenant” — the “Old Testament” — Covenant 1.0, the beta version. Christianity was Covenant 2.0 — replacing Judaism.
So, on the one hand: deep love and respect. On the other hand: some theological issues with Judaism.
To quote Malka Z. Simkovich:
The tensions within the Pope’s homilies, communal addresses, and public persona suggest to me that he does not harbor deep-seated animosity towards Judaism or the Jewish people. Instead, these contradictions are the product of contradictory teachings which will remain unresolved unless they are identified, deconstructed, and renovated with an eye towards total uniformity.
The contradictions would continue. A distancing from Israel; in the wake of Oct. 7. Pope Francis criticized Israel’s war tactics — in language that could be quite harsh. At one point, a kaffiyeh-clad baby Jesus adorned St. Peter’s Square.
But, also, a tenderness toward the Jewish people. The pope saw that worldwide antisemitism was growing. He said Catholics “had hoped that ‘never again’ would be a refrain heard by the new generations, yet now we see that the path ahead requires ever closer collaboration to eradicate these phenomena.”
So, yes: There were contradictions. But that is often what it means to live faithfully — to live with those tensions and to try to discern a way through them.
Why should Jews care about the death of Pope Francis?
Because the very notion of Jews caring about a pope is relatively modern — only about 60 years old. Popes represented a church and a theology that was mired in anti-Judaism.
Consider Pope Pius XII, who served as pope during the Holocaust. As Philip Shenon writes in his new book “Jesus Wept: Seven Popes and the Battle for the Soul of the Catholic Church,” the pope admired Germany. There is substantial evidence that he knew and remained silent about the crimes of the Nazis. That silence haunted him; in his will, he begged for mercy from God for his sin of omission.
Look at how things have improved:
- In 1962, Pope John XXIII convened the Second Vatican Council, which used Sister Rose Thering’s pioneering work against antisemitism. The emerging document would become Nostra Aetate, which absolved the Jews of the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth.
- As Cardinal Karol Jozef Wojtyla, Pope John Paul II had relationships with Jews in his native Poland. As a Polish survivor of World War II, he had a special sensitivity to the Holocaust, and he was the first pope to visit a synagogue.
- Pope Benedict XVI (Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger) visited the synagogue in Cologne, Germany, where he condemned Nazi ideology as “insane” and committed himself to strengthening ties of “friendship” between the Catholic Church and Jews. In 2006, he visited Auschwitz. The pope said the Nazis’ aim was clear: “By destroying Israel, they ultimately wanted to tear up the tap root of the Christian faith and to replace it with a faith of their own invention.”
How should Jews view the complex legacy of Pope Francis?
I would say: with deep appreciation.
In a 2013 article, I described Pope Francis’ liberalism as a breath of fresh air. He believed that the Roman Catholic Church needed to focus less on issues like homosexuality, abortion and contraception. Those positions had only succeeded in alienating huge sections of the flock. He wanted the church to recalibrate itself and to focus on more spiritual matters.
The pope was afraid that the church would become a “small chapel.” In 2022, in a speech in St. Peter’s Basilica, he said: “We are scared by change and tied to the chain of our customs.”
Did he succeed in enlarging that “small chapel”? Did he break the ancient chains? Yes — at least, partially.
But if you are seeing the model of what spiritual leaders should be, consider Pope Francis’ humility, integrity, his ability to admit prior wrongs and his focus on the poor and marginalized.
My favorite quote from Pope Francis? This one speaks to my heart and mind.
In a speech in the Vatican, he said:
We have created new idols. The worship of the golden calf of old has found a new and heartless image in the cult of money and the dictatorship of an economy which is faceless and lacking any truly humane goal.
To which I say: Amen. Go in peace, our brother.
And may God welcome you with open arms.