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War strained the Israel-Vatican bond. Will the pope use the ceasefire to heal those wounds?
As the ceasefire took hold this weekend, Pope Leo XIV called it “a spark of hope in the Holy Land.”
To understand the new pope’s approach to Israel, after he came into his role at a time of unusually strained relations between the Vatican and Israel, a bit of history helps.
The Catholic narrative when it comes to the Jewish state is one of initial opposition, followed by resigned acceptance, and eventually, formal and diplomatic acceptance. At the same time, since the conclusion of the Second Vatican Council in 1965, the Church has embodied a growing love and respect of the Jewish people. In the case of Pope Saint John Paul II, it even gently edged toward a mild Catholic Zionism.
Now, after the late Pope Francis sometimes dropped the ball when it came to the Middle East — and was, rightly in some instances, accused of showing partiality to the Palestinians against Israel, or unwittingly reiterating anti-Jewish tropes — Pope Leo is bringing a balanced diplomatic and theological approach to the issues. He listens carefully, is less impulsive, and more strategic.
‘We cannot recognize the Jewish people’
Initially, the church was strongly opposed to Zionism. In 1904, Pope Pius X told Theodor Herzl, the father of Zionism, that he could not support Zionism for two reasons.
First, as Herzl recorded in his diary, Pius said “The Jews have not recognized our Lord, therefore we cannot recognize the Jewish people.” Religious Judaism had no “further validity,” in Pius’ eyes, as it “was superseded by the teachings of Christ.”
In response to Herzl’s attempt to make an argument for Zionism that was not based on religion, Pius was even more adamant: any religionless group was far worse than a group that, like the Jews, practiced a religion he would not acknowledge.
Yet Pius was, paradoxically, full of compassion for Jews suffering persecution. The core of his approach to Israel could be attributed to a theological attitude known as supersessionism, which is not a doctrine of the Catholic Church, but runs deep in its bloodstream.
Supersessionism teaches that God used the Jews as a vehicle to prepare for Jesus, and that when Jesus came, the Jewish people killed him, cursing themselves. As punishment, the Jews were expelled from their historic land, and their religion was invalidated. (Nevertheless, St. Augustine suggested the Jewish people retained a divine role, through offering testimony to the truth of Christ by their scripture, known under the Church as the Old Testament.)
The radical changes of Nostra Aetate
So far, not so good.
For many subsequent decades, the Vatican had no incentive to support Israel. In 1947, the Vatican never endorsed United Nations Resolution 181, which put forward a plan for separate Jewish and Palestinian states in the Holy Land. The Church preferred the structure that had been in place during Ottoman rule over Palestine, which ended in 1918. In that period, the “millet system” ensured religious freedoms, with 19th-century decrees securing Christian denominational sites and rights.
Under the Ottomans, the status quo arrangements regarding holy sites in Jerusalem were also favorable to Catholicism.
But the Ottomans weren’t coming back. And the state of Israel was, eventually, founded and internationally recognized. So, given the Vatican’s respect for international law, it came to a gradual pragmatic acceptance of the State of Israel.
Matters changed in 1965 with the publication of Nostra Aetate at the Second Vatican Council, convened by Angelo Roncalli, later Pope John XXIII. In the light of the Holocaust and widespread Catholic complicity with anti-Jewishness in that time, Roncalli — who saved thousands of fleeing Jews while papal nuncio in Turkey during the war — had become a resolute opponent of antisemitism.
Roncalli asked the council to publish a document that rejected the deicide charge, which declared that all Jews in Jesus’ time, and subsequently, were guilty of deicide — the killing of God. This move, he hoped, would defang Christian antisemitism.
The document’s fourth paragraph was its great achievement. It rejected the deicide charge, without denying the scriptural accounts. And it recovered St. Paul’s teaching that God’s promises to his people are irrevocable, articulated in Romans 11:29. That meant the Jewish covenant was valid, in contrast to supersessionism.
Finally, it unequivocally condemned antisemitism, without defining that hatred in detail.
Full diplomatic recognition
While many Catholics still today know nothing about Nostra Aetate, Pope John Paul II, 15 years after the document’s publication, moved into high gear in pushing the implications of its teachings into the Catholic mainstream. He was a fierce critic of antisemitism during the second world war in Poland, and witnessed from his underground seminary the ravages of the Holocaust.
Under his pontificate, he established full diplomatic recognition of Israel through a 1993 Fundamental Agreement, which obliquely acknowledged the religious dimensions of this new reality.
He established good relations with the Chief Rabbinate of Israel. He begged God’s forgiveness for the Church’s persecution of the Jewish people.
Informally, in non-authoritative speeches, he showed an awareness that the return of Jews to their biblical land had religious dimensions.
The Church and the Palestinians
This is half the story of the history behind Pope Leo’s decision-making today.
The other half concerns Catholic support for the Palestinians, and Catholic concerns about Arab Christians, of whom there are an estimated 10-15 million in the Middle East.
The Vatican has long supported Palestinian refugees through its charitable agencies. While Pope John Paul II established stronger ties between the Vatican and Israel, he also, in 1999, spoke of “Palestinian’s natural right to a homeland,” and concluded a Fundamental Agreement with the Palestinian Liberation Organization in 2000.
After the U.N. accepted Palestine as a non-member observer state in 2012, the Vatican recognized the state of Palestine in 2015. Internally, none of this was seen as incompatible with the Vatican’s close relations with the Jewish people and the state of Israel.
But the Israeli government thought otherwise, as the Vatican had recognized a state that, in Israel’s eyes, did not exist.
Pope Leo’s immediate predecessor, Francis, did some damage to the Vatican-Israel relationship, including through his citation of a biblical text often deployed against the Jews to speak of evil on the first anniversary of Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack, and his implied criticisms of Israel’s incursion into Gaza in its early days as terrorism. (I think Francis’ more controversial choices regarding Israel were related to his temperament, rather than indicative of a change of course regarding the basic orientation of the Catholic Church.)
Pope Leo’s first moves
On the day of his election, Leo wrote to Rabbi Noam Marans, director of interreligious affairs at the American Jewish Committee. “Trusting in the assistance of the Almighty,” he wrote, “I pledge to continue and strengthen the Church’s dialogue and cooperation with the Jewish people in the spirit of the Second Vatican Council’s Declaration Nostra Aetate.”
Twelve days later, when speaking to Jews and Muslims at a meeting convened in Rome, he reiterated: “The theological dialogue between Christians and Jews remains ever important and close to my heart.” He continued, “Even in these difficult times, marked by conflicts and misunderstandings, it is necessary to continue the momentum of this precious dialogue of ours.”
To my mind — although he hasn’t asked my advice! — Leo might consider developing the Church’s teachings on the Jewish people in one way.
In past Church teachings, Jews were expelled from Israel as part of their punishment for the death of Christ. But since the deicide charge has now been rejected, that punishment is no longer tenable. Is it time for Catholics to teach that the Jewish return to the land of Israel may well be part of the promises made by God that are irrevocable?
This is not to affirm the extreme religious nationalism of far-right Israeli ministers like Bezalel Smotrich or Itamar Ben-Gvir, but rather to provide breathing space for moderate Zionism. Moving to such a teaching would also not undermine the Church’s support for the Palestinian people, but rather give responsible credibility to the Vatican’s continued support of the two state solution.
It is also not to suggest that Leo should cease to be outspoken about the suffering of Palestinians. Like the pope who came before him, his empathy for Palestinians has so far been a hallmark of his papacy.
After the only Catholic Church in Gaza, the Church of the Holy Family, was hit by shrapnel — or shelled directly — on July 17, Leo called for the end of the “barbarity of war,” the protection of religious sites, and proper respect for civilians. He subsequently received a call from Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who apologised for this incident.
He met Israeli President Isaac Herzog in September discussing the urgent need for a ceasefire, humanitarian access for Gaza and a two state solution. He plans to visit Lebanon soon to show solidarity with Middle Eastern Christians. His papacy will be characterised by his efforts to reconcile differences — as he has been doing so successfully within the Catholic Church.
As the Middle East moves carefully toward peace, in the wake of the recent ceasefire, Leo must walk this tightrope, keeping these two deep commitments in careful balance: a love of the Jewish people and a love of the Palestinian people. This is his signature statement: seeking peace between peoples and nations using all the power of his office.
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Hannah Arendt could have anticipated the Trump administration’s lies in Minnesota — and elsewhere
During the last half-dozen years of Hannah Arendt’s life, the celebrated political and moral philosopher, who died in 1975, was shaken by a series of personal and political crises. Not only was she still dealing with the fallout from her book Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Study in the Banality of Evil, but Arendt lost two of her closest friends: her husband Heinrich Blücher and her mentor Karl Jaspers. Moreover, she was increasingly alarmed by the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, the churn of student antiwar protests, and mounting police violence.
“For the first time,” Arendt told her friend, the novelist Mary McCarthy, in 1968, “I meet middle-aged, native-born Americans (colleagues, quite respectable) who think of emigration.”
One affair during this period that struck Arendt with great force was the New York Times publication of the Pentagon Papers in June 1971. These papers, commissioned by former Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, documented in despairing detail America’s deepening involvement in Vietnam from 1945 to 1967. Leaked to the Times by the RAND Corporation analyst Daniel Ellsberg, the papers quickly led to a series of crises — constitutional, political, nearly existential — that led both to the landmark decision by the Supreme Court to allow their publication and, of course, Richard Nixon’s decision to draft a team of plumbers to burglarize the office of Ellsberg’s psychiatrist.
Arendt was of course shocked by the blood-soaked futility and consequences, for civilians no less than soldiers, of American military strategy. But she was also staggered by how successive governments packaged this deadly madness for public consumption. It was nothing less, she declared in her essay “Lying in Politics,” a “quicksand of lying statements of all sorts, deceptions as well as self-deceptions,” one which will engulf any reader intent on making sense of our government’s actions.
First published in the New York Review of Books more than a half-century ago — and subsequently included in Arendt’s collection of essays Crises of the Republic — the piece is hauntingly prophetic, anticipating the salvo of crises now roiling our country. These dangers most often issue from a single source — namely, the embattled status of what Arendt calls our “common world,” one structured by the existence of truth and fact. Were we to undermine these, we would undo that very same world.
The history of political lying is, in a sense, little more than a series of footnotes to Plato’s notion of the “noble lie” — lies the powerful tell the weak in their quest for power and, if they succeed, hold on to it.
“Truthfulness,” Arendt drily notes, “has never been counted among the political virtues, and lies have always been regarded as justifiable tools in political dealings.”
But there is lying and lying. For a prince or president to maintain power, Machiavelli famously declared, “it is necessary to know how to do wrong.” While the use of deception and deceit is among these necessary wrongs, it is important for the ruler to use them sparingly and surgically. Yet this was hardly the case for the succession of presidents who presided over the military and moral debacle in Vietnam. Instead, they and their officials lied with great but also systematic abandon over the reasons for the war — which evolved over time — as well as its human cost and progress. That these lies, Arendt writes, “became the chief issues of the Pentagon Papers, rather than the illusion, error, miscalculation, and the like, is mainly due to the strange fact that the mistaken decisions and lying statements consistently violated the astoundingly accurate factual reports of the intelligence community.”
This deliberate dissonance between facts and claims, in turn, feeds a kind of rot that eats away at the epistemological and ethical foundations of our world and lives. And this is no small matter, for it goes to the heart of Arendt’s analysis of totalitarianism. She argues that factual truths, unlike rational truths, are never compellingly true. That 2+2 will always equal 4 needs no witnesses; that a violent mob stormed out Capitol on Jan. 6, 2020 does, however, require witnesses and factual evidence.
“Facts need testimony to be remembered and trustworthy witnesses to be established in order to find a secure dwelling place in the domain of human affairs,” she wrote. This web of truths is as intricate and fragile as a spider’s web; just as a swat of a stick can collapse the latter, so too can the constant swatting of lies by groups or peoples destroy the former.
The path to the Nazi destruction of European Jewry was paved by the deconstruction of factual truth, the obliteration of moral judgment, and the contagion of state lies. This was no less the case with those Arendt called the “problem-solvers” at RAND — the club of the best and brightest which Ellsberg decided to quit — than with the architects of the Final Solution. In both instances, Arendt writes, “defactualization and problem-solving were welcomed because disregard of reality was inherent in the policies and goals themselves.”
But the rot runs broader and deeper. Eventually, it destroys not just common sense and a common past, but the world we hold in common. If everybody always lies to you, Arendt observes, the consequence is that you will no longer believe anything at all. The next step, quite simply, is the unmaking of reality.
As Arendt wrote in “Truth and Politics,” a companion piece to “Lying in Politics,” the “result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth is not that the lies will now be accepted as truth, and the truth be defamed as lies, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the world is being destroyed.”
Of course, this is the existential threat posed by our nation’s current management, one dedicated to the destruction of factual truth and the world it undergirds. Yet the still provisional success of the citizens of Minneapolis who, in their relentless attention to factual truths — truths they have witnessed and share not only amongst themselves but also the world beyond their city — reminds us that this enterprise in nihilism is hardly predestined.
Arendt would not have been surprised, I believe, by this insurgency on behalf of not just factual but also moral truth in our glacial Midwest. Yet another reason, as this new chapter to the crises of the republic unfolds, Arendt shall remain our indispensable guide.
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Stephen Spielberg wins Grammy, becoming 9th Jew in elite EGOT ranks
(JTA) — The legendary director Stephen Spielberg has become the ninth Jew to secure “EGOT” status after winning a Grammy for producing a documentary about the music of John Williams.
Spielberg was awarded the Grammy for producing “Music by John Williams,” which won best music documentary, before the televised ceremony on Sunday. The win makes him the 22nd person to win the coveted quartet of Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony awards.
Spielberg has won three Oscars, including best picture for the 1993 Holocaust drama “Schindler’s List”; four Emmys for TV programming including two World War II dramatic miniseries; and a Tony for producing the Broadway show “A Strange Loop.”
Spielberg adds to a large proportion of Jewish artists to win all four of the top entertainment awards. Nine of the 22 EGOTs have been Jewish, including the first person to ever reach the status, composer Richard Rodgers. Rodgers and Marvin Hamlisch, who was also Jewish, are the only people to have added a Pulitzer Prize to the EGOT crown. The most recent Jewish winner before Spielberg was the songwriter Benj Pasek, who secured the status in 2024 with an Emmy.
One of Spielberg’s more celebrated recent works was a drama based loosely on his own Jewish family. “The Fabelmans,” released in 2022, earned him three Oscar nods — for best picture, best director and best screenplay — but no wins.
In promoting that movie, Spielberg said antisemitic bullying when he was a child had informed his sense of being an “outsider,” which he translated into his filmmaking.
“Schindler’s List,” meanwhile, spurred the creation of the USC Shoah Foundation, a leading center for preserving Holocaust testimonies that has also recently embraced the task of preserving stories of contemporary antisemitism, too.
“It was, emotionally, the hardest movie I’ve ever made,” Spielberg said about his most decorated movie — for which John Williams earned an Oscar for the score. “It made me so proud to be a Jew.”
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A border official mocked an attorney for observing Shabbat. Orthodox lawyers say the issue is not new.
Gregory Bovino, the Border Patrol official who led immigration raids in Minneapolis, reportedly mocked the Jewish faith of Minnesota’s U.S. attorney during a phone call with other prosecutors in mid-January. According to The New York Times, Bovino complained that Daniel Rosen, an Orthodox Jew, was hard to reach over the weekend because he observes Shabbat and sarcastically pointed out that Orthodox Jewish criminals don’t take the weekends off.
The call took place at a moment of extreme tension in Minneapolis, as federal agents under Bovino’s command carried out an aggressive immigration crackdown that had already turned deadly. It came between the fatal shootings of Renée Good and Alex Pretti, both killed during enforcement operations, and amid fierce backlash from local officials and residents.
Bovino made the remarks in a derisive, mocking tone, the Times reported, casting Shabbat observance as a point of ridicule. Bovino had already drawn national attention for frequently wearing an olive double-breasted greatcoat with World War II-era styling, leading some critics to call him “Gestapo Greg” and accusing him of “Nazi cosplay.” Bovino, who pushed back on those comparisons, has since been reassigned.
Rosen, a Trump nominee, was confirmed as Minnesota’s U.S. attorney in October 2025 after a career in private practice and Jewish communal leadership. He has said that rising antisemitism helped motivate his decision to take the job, and that prosecuting hate crimes would be a priority for his office.
For many Orthodox Jewish lawyers, Bovino’s alleged remarks were not surprising. They echoed a familiar challenge: explaining that Shabbat — a full day offline — is not a lack of commitment, but a religious boundary that cannot be bent without being broken.
In a profession that prizes constant availability, that boundary can carry consequences. Some lawyers say it shows up in subtle ways: raised eyebrows, jokes about being unreachable, skepticism when they ask for time off. Others say it has shaped much bigger decisions, including how visibly Jewish they allow themselves to be at work.

David Schoen, an Orthodox criminal defense attorney who served as lead counsel for President Donald Trump during his second impeachment trial, said he has long been mindful of how religious observance is perceived in the courtroom.
“I have made a conscious decision not to wear my yarmulke in front of a jury,” Schoen said, explaining that jurors often “draw stereotypes from what they see.”
Those concerns were reinforced by experience. Schoen said he has noticed a “definite difference in attitude” from some judges depending on whether he wore a yarmulke. In one case, he recalled, a Jewish judge pulled him aside during a jury trial and told him she thought he had made the right choice — a comment Schoen said he found disappointing.

For Sara Shulevitz, a criminal defense attorney and former prosecutor, the Bovino episode brought back memories from early in her career.
Orthodox and the daughter of a Hasidic rabbi — now married to one — Shulevitz said her unavailability on Jewish holidays was often treated as a professional flaw rather than a religious obligation. “It held me back from getting promotions,” she said.
In court, the scrutiny could be blunt. “I was mocked by a Jewish judge for celebrating ‘antiquated’ Jewish holidays,” she said, recalling requests for continuances for Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. In another case, she said, a judge questioned her request for time off for Shavuot and suggested she had already “taken off for Passover.”
When another judge assumed Passover always began on the same day in April, “I had to explain the Jewish lunar calendar in the middle of court while everyone was laughing,” she said.
Not every encounter, Shulevitz added, was rooted in hostility. Sometimes judges simply didn’t understand Orthodox practice. When she explained she couldn’t appear on a Jewish holiday, judges would suggest she join the hearing by Zoom — forcing her to explain that Orthodox Jews don’t use electrical devices on Shabbat or festivals.
The misunderstanding often slid into a familiar assumption. “They think you’re lazy,” she said. “It’s not laziness. Any Jewish woman knows how much work goes into preparing for Passover.”
Rabbi Michael Broyde, a law professor at Emory University who studies religious accommodation, said that Bovino’s alleged “derogatory remarks” are “sad and reflects, I worry, the antisemitic times we seem to be living in.”
He added that the criticism of Rosen reflected a basic misunderstanding of how law offices operate, calling it “extremely rare” for a lawyer’s religious practices to interfere with their obligations, especially when senior attorneys delegate work and courts routinely grant continuances.
“No one works 24/7,” Broyde said.
The episode echoed a similar Shabbat-related incident during Trump’s first term. In his 2022 memoir, former Trump trade adviser Peter Navarro described how a group sought to undermine Trump son-in-law Jared Kushner’s role in the 2020 campaign by scheduling a key White House meeting with Trump on a Saturday, knowing Kushner — who is Shabbat observant — would not attend. Navarro titled the chapter recounting the episode, “Shabbat Shalom and Sayonara.”
The tension between Jewish observance and public life is not new. Senator Joe Lieberman, the first observant Jew to run on a major-party presidential ticket, famously walked to the Capitol for a Saturday vote and ate fish instead of meat at receptions. His longtime Senate colleague Chris Dodd joked that he became Lieberman’s “Shabbos goy.”
Still, Schoen said, visibility can cut both ways. During Trump’s impeachment trial, while speaking on the Senate floor, he reached for a bottle of water and instinctively paused. With one hand holding the bottle, he used the other to cover his head — a makeshift yarmulke — before drinking.
The moment was brief, but it did not go unnoticed. In the days that followed, Schoen said he heard from young Jewish men and businesspeople who told him that seeing the gesture made them feel more comfortable wearing their own yarmulkes at work.
The attention, he said, was unexpected. But for some in the Orthodox community, it became a source of pride.
“I felt honored,” Schoen said.
My guess in all seriousness is that he normally wears a yarmulke and this was reflex. Schoen is modern Orthodox so that would make sense. But I defer to @jacobkornbluh https://t.co/MkKx6W03v2
— Jake Tapper 🦅 (@jaketapper) February 9, 2021
Jacob Kornbluh contributed additional reporting.
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