Religion Leo XIV, first American pope, studied under a leader in Jewish-Catholic relations Fr. John T. Pawlikowski describes his former student as “a very open-minded person.” Pope Leo XIV addresses the world following his election. (Getty Images) Pope Leo XIV addresses the world following his election. (Getty Images) Advertisement By Ben Sales May 8, 2025 4:10 pm Cardinal Robert Prevost, who was just elected as Pope Leo XIV, studied under a pioneer in Jewish-Catholic relations when he attended seminary in Chicago. The Rev. John T. Pawlikowski, who taught for nearly half a century at the Catholic Theological Union until his retirement in 2017, served as co-founder and director of the school’s Catholic-Jewish Studies Program and also served four terms on the board of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. More than 40 years after Leo’s ordination as a priest, Pawlikowski remembers the new pope as a good student with an open mind. “I do remember him as a pretty bright student,” Pawlikowski said in an interview shortly after his former student was introduced to the world as the sitting bishop of Rome. Pawlikowski added later, “My experience of him was he’s a very open-minded person who’s very much in the context of Vatican II.” Vatican II, or the Second Vatican Council, inaugurated a new era in Jewish-Catholic relations in 1965 when it issued a document, Nostra Aetate, repudiating antisemitism and stating that the Jewish people were not responsible for Jesus’ death. Ties between the two religious communities were blossoming at the time when Leo was studying for the priesthood in the late 1970s and early ‘80s. Under Pawlikowski, Leo studied Catholic social teaching, which focuses on social and economic issues. Pawlikowski says relations with Jews are relevant to that field. CTU has also had a commitment to Catholic-Jewish relations since its founding and launched its formal program in the field in 1968. “’I’ve always argued that antisemitism is something that has to be counted as part of the Catholic commitment to social justice and human dignity,” he said. “My work on Catholic social teaching did include always the issue of antisemitism.” The pope spent much of his career in Peru and is thought of as a relative centrist and Vatican insider. He hasn’t been a prominent figure in Jewish-Catholic dialogue or fighting antisemitism, and doesn’t appear to have commented publicly on Israel or the war in Gaza. Pope Francis, his predecessor, did opine on those issues and had relations with Jewish leaders in his native Argentina. But Leo’s coming of age in the era of Vatican II — plus his roots in Chicago, which has a large Jewish community, also lead Rabbi Noam Marans, the American Jewish Committee’s director of interreligious and intergroup relations, to feel optimistic. “He studied at CTU under John Pawlikowski and in the post-Nostra Aetate era, in the country where Catholic-Jewish relations is preeminent,” Marans said in an interview. “An American pope bodes well for the future of Catholic-Jewish relations. More than anywhere in the world, the relationship between Catholics and Jews has flourished and set a gold standard in the United States.” While Francis was outspoken in his opposition to antisemitism and his promotion of ties with Jews, he raised the ire of some Jewish leaders in recent years for his criticism of Israel’s war against Hamas in Gaza. One of his last acts as pope was to donate his popemobile to Gaza as a mobile medical unit. Pawlikowski said he believes “there’s a desire to carry on” with Catholic-Jewish relations, though he added, “the situation in Israel and Gaza has had a dramatic effect.” Will his former student begin a new chapter in Catholic-Jewish ties? Pawlikowski said it’s too soon to tell, given that Leo has not thus far focused on the issue. “He hasn’t really been stationed in any area where there was a really pronounced Jewish community,” he said. “On the question of interreligious [affairs], he’ll have to show us where he is, but I would assume he had an outgoing, positive attitude generally.” In his first address as pope, Leo issued a call to dialogue. “Help us as well—help one another—to build bridges through dialogue, through encounter, uniting everyone to be one single people always in peace,” he said. Rabbi Joshua Stanton, associate vice president for interfaith and intergroup initiatives at the Jewish Federations of North America, saw that as a sign that the pope is committed to Catholic-Jewish relations. He noted that this year is Nostra Aetate’s 60th anniversary, which he hopes Leo commemorates in an active way. “I’m very hopeful that he referenced the importance of dialogue and reaching out beyond the Catholic Church to other religious communities,” Stanton said. Stanton noted that Leo has a reputation for “quiet efficacy,” and as he settles into his position, Stanton said he’ll be looking at how the pontiff acts. “Does he invite Jewish leaders to the Vatican to meet with him?” he said. “Does he invite leaders from other traditions? Does he try to bring multiple groups together at the same time?” The focus of Leo’s address on Thursday was peace. With war raging in Gaza, Marans did not take that as a specific reference to the Middle East. “All popes want peace,” he said. “May I add, all Catholics, Jews, rabbis want peace.” Share this:
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AntisemitismCanada In 2026, Tulsa And Panama Are Courting Canadian Jews As Antisemitism Redefines The Cost Of Staying As antisemitism reaches unprecedented levels across Canada, Jewish families and professionals are quietly reassessing their futures, and some are being actively courted elsewhere. Ron East By: Ron East December 31, 2025 SHARE A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options as antisemitism intensifies and confidence in public protection erodes. (Image: Illustration.) TORONTO — For generations, Canada sold itself as a country where Jews could thrive without constantly looking over their shoulders. That assumption no longer holds for a growing number of Canadian Jews, particularly in the aftermath of October 7 and the months that followed. What has changed is not only the number of antisemitic incidents. It is the atmosphere. Public hostility has been normalized. Jewish schools, synagogues, and community centres operate under permanent security protocols. Anti-Jewish intimidation is increasingly framed as political expression. Enforcement is inconsistent. Accountability is rare. When Jewish life requires constant risk assessment, mobility stops being a luxury. It becomes a rational act of self-preservation. That reality helps explain why, in 2026, two very different destinations, Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Panama, are appearing with growing frequency in serious conversations among Canadian Jews who have the means and flexibility to move. This is not a panic migration. It is a strategic recalculation. Canada’s new warning lights Jewish Canadians represent a small fraction of the population, yet account for a vastly disproportionate share of reported hate crimes. This is not a perception problem. It is a documented pattern. More troubling than the statistics themselves is the message many Jews hear in response: concern, sympathy, and context, but little deterrence. Protests that spill into harassment are tolerated. Jewish institutions are targeted repeatedly. Antisemitism disguised as antizionism is parsed endlessly rather than confronted directly. The result is a slow erosion of confidence in the state’s willingness or ability to enforce equal protection. When a community moves from assuming it belongs to hoping nothing happens today, the social contract has already been fractured. It is within this context that Tulsa and Panama are not merely attracting attention but actively courting. Lech Le’Tulsa and intentional Jewish welcome Tulsa is not presenting itself as a refuge city. It is presenting itself as a place that wants Jewish life to grow. In 2026, that effort has taken concrete form through Lech Le’Tulsa, a Jewish-focused relocation initiative designed to attract Jewish families, professionals, and entrepreneurs to the Tulsa area. The program combines relocation assistance with intentional community building and access to Jewish infrastructure. The name is deliberate. Lech Lecha, the biblical call to go forth and build a future, is not branding by accident. It speaks directly to a Jewish historical instinct that understands movement not as retreat, but as agency. Lech Le’Tulsa offers what many Canadian Jews increasingly feel is missing at home: A clear signal that Jewish presence is welcomed, not merely accommodated Immediate access to synagogues, schools, and Jewish communal life A civic environment where Jewish identity is not treated as a liability The financial incentives matter, but the social architecture matters more. Tulsa is offering a landing ramp. It is saying, we are prepared for you to arrive. That clarity stands in stark contrast to the ambiguity Canadian Jews experience when their safety concerns are acknowledged but endlessly deferred. Panama and the appeal of optionality Panama represents a different but equally rational response to insecurity. For Canadian Jews with international mobility, Panama offers residency pathways tied to investment, business activity, or long-term economic contribution. It also offers something increasingly valuable: optionality. Panama has an established Jewish community, a comparatively lower cost of living, and an immigration framework that openly courts skilled and capital-carrying residents. For some, it is a permanent relocation. For others, it is a second base, a contingency plan, or a future passport pathway. What matters is not the destination itself, but the logic behind the choice. When Jews seek second options, they are not rejecting diaspora life. They are applying historical lessons. Jewish continuity has always depended on redundancy, resilience, and the ability to move before crisis becomes catastrophe. The Zionist lens Canadians prefer to ignore Zionism does not deny the legitimacy of diaspora life. It insists that Jews must never be dependent on the goodwill of others for safety or equality. That lesson was written in blood long before the modern State of Israel existed. Israel institutionalized it at a national level. Individual Jews apply it on a personal level. When Canadian Jews explore Tulsa or Panama, they are not abandoning Canada in anger. They are responding rationally to warning signs. They are building leverage. They are ensuring their children have options. This is what Zionist consciousness looks like outside Israel. It is quiet, pragmatic, and unsentimental. An indictment Canada should take seriously Tulsa and Panama are not superior societies. They are intentional ones. Tulsa is saying, we want contributors, and we are prepared to integrate them. Panama is saying, we want residents and investment, and we have clear legal pathways. Canada, too often, is saying something else entirely: we are sorry you feel unsafe, but the politics are complicated. A serious country does not treat antisemitism as a public relations challenge. It treats it as a threat to civic order. That requires enforcement, deterrence, and moral clarity, including the willingness to name antisemitism even when it hides behind fashionable political language. Until that happens, Canada should not be surprised when Jews quietly explore exit ramps. The bottom line In 2026, the fact that Tulsa and Panama can plausibly court Canadian Jews is not an oddity. It is a warning. When antisemitism reaches levels that fundamentally alter how Jews calculate their futures, movement becomes strategy. History teaches Jews to act before apologies arrive too late. Canada still has time to reverse this trajectory. But time matters. And Jews, having learned this lesson repeatedly, are no longer inclined to wait.
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