Photo credit: Anonymous, AI-generated.
Pope Francis, the first Jesuit pontiff and a humble advocate for the marginalised, passed away at 88, leaving a legacy of radical compassion and unwavering solidarity with the poor. His papacy was defined by a progressive vision. He championed economic justice, environmental stewardship, interfaith dialogue and a more tolerant approach to LGBTQ+ people in a Church that remained largely conservative and which has not addressed abuse and corruption by its brethren..
His pastoral warmth resonated globally. A vocal critic of inequality and war, he tirelessly called for peace, most recently through his constant prayers and appeals for Gaza, urging an end to violence and suffering. From washing the feet of refugees to condemning the “globalisation of indifference,” his ministry embodied the Gospel’s preferential option for the poor. Though his voice is silenced, his challenge to build a more merciful world endures.
Read the letter from Jennifer Kestis Ferguson, South African-born composer, poet and parliamentarian in the first SA democratic government.
A Letter Across the Fire: On Guilt, Grief, and the Children of Gaza:
To my beloved friends of Jewish heritage,to those who carry the weight of history in your bones—
I write not to accuse, but to grieve alongside you.
We are living through a time of unbearable sorrow. The images from Gaza—of dust-covered children, hospitals in ruin, families weeping beside open graves—are unbearable not because they are foreign, but because they echo too closely the traumas of our collective past. For those whose ancestors survived pogroms, ghettos, and the Holocaust, the very notion that the State of Israel—our Israel, your Israel—could become a perpetrator of war crimes is more than painful. It is unthinkable.
And yet—it is happening.
And so we are left in a silence of moral dissonance. A silence that screams.
When I shared an AI-generated image of Pope Francis being welcomed into paradise by smiling children holding a Palestinian flag, some of you responded not with curiosity or sorrow—but with fury. I understand. The image pierced something deep. Perhaps it awakened shame. Or dread. Or the ancient, inherited fear that the world will turn on Jews once again.
Please hear me:
Calling for justice for the people of Palestine is not antisemitism.
Mourning the slaughter of Gazan children is not a betrayal of Jewish suffering.
It is, in fact, an echo of the Jewish prophetic tradition itself.
We must not confuse critique of a state’s policies with hatred of a people. Zionism is not Judaism. The IDF is not Torah. And the massacres in Gaza do not honor the memory of the six million.
October 7th was horrific. Innocents died. Families were torn apart. And yes, it was a manifestation of trauma—decades of occupation, siege, humiliation. Nothing can justify the killing of civilians. But nor can October 7 be used as a moral shield for the ongoing obliteration of an entire people.
When the oppressed become the oppressors, the world must speak.
This is not about choosing sides. This is about choosing life. Choosing the child over the gun. The wounded over the flag. The image of God over every ideology.
To my Jewish friends: your grief is valid. Your fear is real. And your moral voice is needed more than ever—not in defense of the indefensible, but in return to the heart of what Judaism has always known: that God weeps with the suffering, that justice is not vengeance, and that the stranger is sacred.
It is possible to mourn the Holocaust and mourn the Nakba.
It is possible to condemn Hamas and denounce collective punishment.
It is possible—indeed essential—to love Israel and demand it stop killing children.
Pope Francis has dared to say what many are afraid to: that the Gospel has no border, that compassion has no flag, and that to stand with the crucified people of our time is not political—it is holy.
So let us not close our hearts. Let us not weaponize our wounds. Let us grieve, rage, and hope—together.
In sorrow and in fierce, untiring love,
Jennifer
This piece was written for the April 2025 edition of Postscripts, Shamillah Wilson’s monthly round-up of what’s been happening in feminist circles, her work, and some recommended reading suggestions.
