Pope Francis was no friend of the Jews

The death of Pope Francis today (Easter Monday) at age 88 closes a chapter of a papacy that, while celebrated for its humility and outreach to the marginalized, left many in the Jewish community disillusioned (and that's putting it kindly.)

What's sad is that at the beginning of his papacy, it looked like things could be different. When Francis came to the papacy in 2013, he had a reputation for warmth toward Argentina’s Jewish community.

His friendship with Rabbi Abraham Skorka, with whom he co-authored a book, and his 2014 visit to Israel, where he prayed at the Western Wall, initially raised hopes for a new era. He condemned antisemitism repeatedly, visited Auschwitz in 2016, and in 2015 issued a Vatican document rejecting efforts to convert Jews, a significant step toward respecting Jewish religious integrity.

Yet, these moments were overshadowed by a series of gross missteps that Jewish leaders found dismissive or outright offensive, particularly in the context of the Church’s centuries-long history of antagonism toward Jews.

The Catholic Church’s relationship with Jews has been a saga of persecution punctuated by rare moments of protection. In the early centuries, theologians like St. Augustine argued Jews should be preserved to bear witness to Christian truth, a stance codified by Pope Gregory the Great in 598, who demanded their equitable treatment under Roman law. But this protection was conditional, relegating Jews to a subordinate status.

By the Middle Ages, the Church fueled anti-Jewish sentiment, with popes like Innocent III in 1201 endorsing forced baptisms and Pius V in 1569 expelling Jews from the Papal States. The Roman Ghetto, established in 1555, confined Jews until 1870. The Church’s role in spreading the claim that Jews were collectively responsible for Jesus’s death laid the groundwork for pogroms and modern antisemitism.

It was only as recently as 1965 when the Vatican began to confront this legacy with Second Vatican Council’s Nostra Aetate, which rejected Jewish guilt for the crucifixion.

Francis, despite embracing Nostra Aetate, struggled to navigate this historical weight. In 2021, he suggested in a homily that the Torah “does not give life,” implying it was obsolete compared to Christian salvation.

The Chief Rabbinate of Israel and global Jewish organizations protested, seeing echoes of supersessionism, the belief that Christianity supplants Judaism. Cardinal Kurt Koch, after consulting Francis, clarified that the pope respected the Torah, but the damage lingered. “It was a painful reminder of how easily old tropes resurface,” said Rabbi David Sandmel, a leader in Jewish-Catholic dialogue.

In 2023, Francis’s comparison of Gaza’s suffering to the Holocaust drew sharp rebuke from the Anti-Defamation League, which called it “a gross misrepresentation” that trivialized Jewish genocide.

His approach to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict further alienated Jews. In 2024, Francis called for an investigation into whether Israel’s actions in Gaza constituted genocide, a charge Israel’s government labeled “slanderous.” “He positioned himself as a neutral arbiter, but his words often felt like a betrayal,” said Rabbi Riccardo Di Segni, Rome’s chief rabbi. Di Segni criticized Francis for equating the Hamas massacre with Israel’s defensive operations. Italian rabbis, in a 2023 statement, questioned the value of decades of dialogue when Francis’s “diplomatic balancing” blatantly ignored Jewish pain.

Just four months ago, Pope Francis censured Israel (again) during a speech to Vatican officials. “Yesterday, children were bombed. This is cruelty, not war,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion, likely referring to IDF strikes that Palestinian sources say killed 25 people.

He also expressed deep frustration that his envoy, Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, was barred from entering Gaza “despite promises,” a move he saw as stopping efforts to meet with the Strip’s Catholic community. He also hosted Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas, their first face-to-face meeting in three years.

His November 2024 suggestion that Israel’s actions in Gaza might warrant a genocide investigation prompted a sharp response from Israel’s Diaspora Affairs Minister Amichai Chikli, who called it a “blood libel” in a blistering open letter published in Italian media. The IDF, responding to Francis’s complaint about Pizzaballa, told Reuters the cardinal’s visit was greenlit for Sunday, security permitting, and pointed out that Catholic humanitarian aid has recently reached Gaza.

Defenders argue Francis’s intent was not malice but a universalist impulse to condemn all violence. Rabbi Guy Alaluf, an Israeli scholar, wrote in 2024 that Francis’s critiques of Israel stemmed from a pacifist worldview, not anti-Jewish bias, and his letter to Jews that year reaffirmed the Church’s rejection of antisemitism as “a sin against God.”

But even supporters acknowledge his failure to consistently prioritize Jewish concerns. “He saw himself as a bridge-builder, but bridges need solid foundations,” said Adam Gregerman, a scholar at Saint Joseph’s University. Francis’s focus on Muslim-Catholic dialogue, including his ties with Al-Azhar’s Grand Imam, sometimes appeared to sideline Jewish sensitivities, as noted by Vatican commentator Lucetta Scaraffia.

Francis’s predecessors, like John Paul II, who called Jews “elder brothers” during a historic 1986 synagogue visit, set a high bar, which he clearly couldn't match.

And honestly, it really doesn't even seem like he wanted to. He chose a side and clung to it fiercely. Things took a bizarre turn recently when he allowed an installation at the Vatican, where baby Jesus was shown wearing a keffiyeh. This implied that Jesus had Palestinian roots, and made a lot of people ask, "Does the Pope not even know Jesus was Jewish?" (Ouch!)

The Church mourns, but for now, many Jews bid Francis farewell with ambivalence (at best), wary of a Church still wrestling with its past, and knowing how we have paid in blood for its "errors".

The next pope will inherit a dialogue tested by history and tempered by hope. If history is anything to go by though, we shouldn't hold our breaths waiting for kindness.

Ynet contributed to this article.