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.
