It is rare in life to encounter someone whose humility
matches the scale of their authority. For me, that person has always been Jorge
Mario Bergoglio—known to the world as Pope Francis.
I first met him in Buenos Aires, before much of the world
knew his name. At the time, he was Archbishop of the city, a spiritual leader
devoted to social justice and human dignity. Even then, his door was always
open to the Jewish community. He attended Holocaust commemorations, visited
synagogues, and never hesitated to speak out against antisemitism. He knew that
dialogue between Jews and Catholics was not just a diplomatic formality—it was
a moral obligation born of history, pain, and hope.
When he became Pope in 2013, I remember thinking how fitting
it was that someone so committed to building bridges—not walls—had been chosen
to lead over a billion Catholics. From the moment he stepped into that role,
Pope Francis made clear that the relationship between the Catholic Church and
the Jewish people would not be defined by the tragedies of the past, but by a
shared responsibility for the future.
Over the years, I have had the profound privilege of meeting
with Pope Francis many times on behalf of the global Jewish community. Our
conversations were personal, meaningful, and always guided by mutual respect.
He has met my children. He welcomed me not just as a representative of a Jewish
institution, but as a friend. In him, we found a true partner—someone who
understood the Jewish story and honored it.
Through his words and deeds, Pope Francis carried forward
the vision of Nostra Aetate, the landmark 1965 Vatican declaration that
transformed Jewish-Catholic relations. But he did more than uphold doctrine—he
put it into action. Whether visiting the Western Wall in Jerusalem, lighting a
Hanukkah candle with Jewish friends, or denouncing antisemitism as a sin, he
showed that this relationship was not just theological—it was human.
In recent years, as we faced a surge in antisemitism around
the world, Pope Francis never wavered. He condemned hatred in all forms and
urged political and faith leaders to protect the dignity of every human being.
He reminded the world that “to be antisemitic is to be
anti-Christian.” Those words were not just symbolic—they were a shield for
countless Jewish communities.
As we mourn his passing, we at the World Jewish Congress—and
especially those of us in Latin America—feel a personal loss. We will miss his
wisdom, his friendship, and his unwavering moral clarity. But we will honor his
legacy by continuing the work he believed in: dialogue, dignity, and peace
among peoples of all faiths.
Pope Francis taught us that relationships between religions
are not made in official statements alone—they are made in trust, in presence,
and in the courage to see the other not as a threat, but as a sibling.
May his memory be a blessing—and may his life continue to
serve as an example to all.
