I recently found myself, somewhat unexpectedly, watching Pope Francis’ lavoya (funeral) on television. As the ceremony unfolded with its ancient rhythms and global attendance, a thought occurred to me that I haven’t quite shaken: here was a spiritual leader whose moral authority resonated across continents, transcending the boundaries of his own faith to touch 1.4 billion Catholics and countless others.
As a Jew, it set me wondering—not for the first time—what it might mean for us to have such a figure. A global spiritual voice. A moral compass. A leader whose authority commands attention not through political muscle or military might, but through sheer ethical gravitas.
To be clear, I’m not advocating for our own version of a man in a white skullcap touring the world in a bulletproof popemobile. Judaism’s decentralised nature is one of our strengths—the spirited arguments and relentless questioning that prevent any single interpretation from ossifying into dogma. You know the old saying: ask two Jews, you’ll get three opinions—and possibly four if one of them’s had lunch.
And yet.
There’s something particularly pressing about this moment. Following October 7th, as Israel battles Hamas in Gaza and antisemitism spikes worldwide, Jews find ourselves caught in a vortex of competing narratives, fractured communities, and hostile rhetoric from every side.
What if there were a single, credible voice cutting through this cacophony? Not to dictate policy or politics, but to articulate a distinctly Jewish ethical perspective on justice, mercy, security, and human dignity—a voice respected both within and beyond our communities?
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks ז״ל came closest in recent memory. Sacks, who passed away in 2020, spoke to issues far beyond his formal role as Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth. His books, lectures, and public appearances reached millions. People listened—not just Jews. Everyone.
Imagine how such a voice might resonate now, as hostages remain captive, as bombs fall and as Jewish communities feel increasingly isolated. Could it reshape the conversation?
The immediate objection is obvious: who would appoint such a figure? Judaism lacks Catholicism’s hierarchical structure and papal infallibility. We have no College of Cardinals to elect a leader, no tradition of centralised religious authority.
Our dispersed communities reflect our history: diverse traditions united by shared texts yet divided by geography, practice, and ideology. Reform, Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, Renewal—each with its own leadership.
Malcolm Green. Pic: Courtesy
In Israel, the Chief Rabbinate holds authority, but its ultra-Orthodox stance alienates many secular Israelis and most Diaspora Jews. Elsewhere, Chief Rabbis speak primarily to local communities. This decentralisation has allowed Judaism to adapt to different cultural contexts while preserving its essential character. It has avoided the kind of schisms that have fractured Christianity.
And yet perhaps today’s crises demand something different—not a pope claiming infallibility, but a voice capable of expressing an ethical vision across denominational lines.
What I’m imagining emphatically isn’t political. The last thing Judaism needs is another arena for internal power struggles and partisan divides.
Rather, a moral and spiritual voice whose authority derives from wisdom, learning, and ethical clarity. Someone addressing profound questions: How do we pursue justice without losing sight of peace? How do we maintain our particularity while embracing universal human dignity?
Imagine if, in the wake of violence, there had been a Jewish leader capable of speaking meaningfully to both Israelis and Palestinians, to Western governments and Arab states, to secular Jews and the deeply religious. Someone who could acknowledge Israeli grief and Palestinian suffering simultaneously, condemning terror without dehumanising an entire people.
Where would such a figure speak from? Rome has the Vatican; Jews have Jerusalem—a city sacred and contested, defined by complexity rather than grandeur. Fittingly, a Jewish moral voice would emanate from a place that embodies contradiction.
The Western Wall is not St. Peter’s Basilica. It is a remnant, a fragment of what once was, standing amid competing claims and narratives. Its weathered stones tell a story not of triumph, but of endurance; not of domination, but of memory.
Unlike the Pope, secure in Vatican City’s sovereign isolation, a Jewish moral voice would speak from the heart of the world’s most intractable conflict. Authority would come not from institutional power or territorial sovereignty, but from the ability to hold multiple truths at once—to embrace complexity rather than reduce it.
Historically, Jews are wary of centralised leadership. Medieval rulers often appointed “chief Jews” to represent the community—figures who too often became scapegoats or tools of oppression. The memory of those precarious roles lingers.
But we are not medieval Europe’s vulnerable minority anymore. We are a global people with a sovereign state, vibrant Diaspora communities, and unprecedented influence. Perhaps it’s time to move beyond the defensive crouch of history and imagine a more confident Jewish voice on the world stage.
Of course, a significant challenge would come from Israel itself. The Israeli government often assumes the mantle of representing world Jewry—a position that can create real tension with Diaspora communities, whose perspectives and priorities may differ dramatically. Any global Jewish voice would need to navigate this delicate balance: affirming Israel’s central role while insisting that Jewish moral leadership is broader than any one state’s policies.
Chief Rabbis offer a model—but also a warning. Too often, institutional entanglement or denominational limitation has stifled broader influence.
Rabbi Sacks transcended these constraints. His genius was in translating Jewish wisdom into a language that resonated across boundaries: philosophical, political, and religious. This is the kind of voice I envision—rooted deeply in tradition, but speaking to the ethical dilemmas of a complicated world.
What might this look like in practice? Not electing a Jewish pope, nor establishing formal institutional power. Perhaps a “Global Rabbi” or “Jewish Ethical Voice,” appointed by a diverse council of representatives from across the streams of Jewish life and the regions of the world.
This figure wouldn’t issue halachic rulings or dictate policy. Their authority would be moral, not institutional. Their role would be to articulate Jewish perspectives on the great ethical challenges of our time: conflict, inequality, climate, technology—the human questions that transcend any one people.
In a sense, it would be a return to our oldest tradition. The prophets of Israel spoke truth to power not from positions of authority, but from moral conviction. They challenged kings and comforted exiles. They criticised, they consoled, they called the people back to their better selves.
Perhaps what we need today is not a pope, but a prophet.
The aftermath of October 7th has shown both the strengths and weaknesses of our leadership structures. We’ve seen solidarity and resilience. We’ve also seen how hard it is to articulate a coherent moral vision—to balance the pain and fear of our own people with the dignity and suffering of others.
The papacy—despite all its flaws—demonstrates that religious leadership can transcend national boundaries and political divides by offering ethical clarity and spiritual depth.
Judaism has long contributed profoundly to humanity’s moral imagination. Perhaps it’s time we find a new way to give that contribution global voice.
Not a Pope, but a prophet for our times.
A voice rooted in complexity, humility, and hope—a voice the world sorely needs to hear.
A voice, perhaps, we ourselves most need to hear.
- Malcolm Green, award-winning filmmaker, writer and former advertising agency founder.
