Why Pizzaballa, Jerusalem’s first cardinal and an advocate for peace, could be a long-shot contender for pope

Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, cuts an unmistakable figure in the dark corridors of the ancient, stone patriarchate in this troubled corner of the world. He moves quickly, in long, deliberate strides, the seams of his black cassock billowing like a swimmer’s stroke ahead of his arrival. He was born in Bergamo, northern Italy, but after 35 years immersed in the concerns of his flock here, he says, “I have no idea what people in Italy are talking about most of the time.” His elderly mother still ties him to the land of his birth. One of those topics of conversation in the halls of Vatican City is Pizzaballa himself. Younger by a decade than the candidates considered frontrunners, Jerusalem’s first-ever cardinal has nevertheless emerged as an intriguing possibility, thrust into the spotlight by the same war in Gaza that has compelled him to confront difficult questions about faith and humanity. “Every man of faith has questions, including myself,” Pizzaballa said in an interview less than two weeks before Pope Francis’ death. “You are so frustrated from the situation, and you ask, ‘Where are you?’ to God. ‘Where are you?’ Then I come to myself and I understand the question should be, ‘Where is man now? What have we done with our humanity?’” “We cannot consider God guilty of what we are doing,” he said. Pizzaballa, who turned 60 last month, arrived in Jerusalem aged 25, a priest in his first month of service. He had grown up in such poverty that a consideration in his choice to enter a monastic setting was that his family would have one less mouth to feed. But, principally, he was inspired by a local, cycling priest, who brought joy and the life of the spirit into the growing boy’s world. If the general public knew anything of Pizzaballa ahead of the death of Pope Francis, it was about a gesture that he considers so “obvious” as to be almost meaningless: Nine days into the Israel-Gaza war – and two weeks into his tenure as cardinal – he offered himself in exchange for the Israeli children who’d been taken hostage by Hamas on October 7. Responding to a query in a closed call with Vatican pool reporters intended to discuss his historic appointment, Pizzaballa said simply, “I am prepared for an exchange, anything, if this can lead to freedom, to bring the children home… There is total willingness on my part.” It was a “strange question,” he recalled, but he meant his answer very seriously. “I didn’t expect the reaction. Wonderful reaction in the world, but not in Palestine,” he told CNN. “Why Israeli children and not for the Palestinian children? My answer was… also for them I’m ready. No problem.” What he said in the moment on the call with reporters was “very naive,” he acknowledges. Nonetheless, the fact that, amid the chaos and dearth of leadership that has characterized the period of war, no other figure, political or religious, local or global, has replicated his reflexive proposal, is a source of wonder for him. As is the fact that no one in a position of power responded. “In this moment, my impression is that the institution of leaders are in a way paralyzed by their role,” Pizzaballa said. “The lesson I see here is that faith and power don’t go well together. If you want to be free as a religious leader, you have to be independent from any kind of power, economical power, political power, social power, whatever. And we are not there now.” At the outbreak of the war, Pizzaballa presciently predicted that “the first thing to do is to try to win the release of the hostages, otherwise there will be no way of stopping (an escalation) adding a note of caution: “You can’t talk to Hamas. It is very difficult.” Nineteen months later, with Israel on the cusp of expanding its war and 59 hostages still held by Hamas, his words seem prophetic. Pizzaballa takes his own contradictions in stride. The Franciscan friar, who has devoted his life to the notion of a universal church, moves easily among the Jewish and Muslim majorities in whose midst he has made his life. As Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem since 2020, he leads Catholics living in Israel, the Palestinian territories, Jordan and Cyprus. Having lived almost his entire adult life in Jerusalem, with a PhD from the Hebrew University under his belt, Pizzaballa can genially hold his own in a theological discussion on YouTube, in fluid Hebrew, with an Israeli orthodox rabbi, sounding for all the world like two old neighbors at a cafe. It is easy to imagine the cerebral, long-limbed Pizzaballa, nephew of Pier Luigi Pizzaballa, Roman football champion of the 1970s, as a retired athlete turned professor. Yet faith is the stuff of his life. His new cardinalship, and the war, thrust him into the unfamiliar role of speaking both for Israelis and Palestinians, and especially Gazans, in the Vatican – feeling, he said, “the need to be the voice of my people to the world, but also the voice of faith to my people.” The war also obliged Pizzaballa to respond to immediate, existential angst about the very question of a shared humanity. “One of the problems we have now is that we tend to dehumanize the other. You shouldn’t do this,” Pizzaballa says, with a finality that silences doubt. “The other is (a) human being. Whoever he is, he’s a human being. So, you have to be attached to this.” It’s easy from the outside to see Pizzaballa’s time in Jerusalem as defined by conflict. Even before the current war, he has led the Catholic Church in Jerusalem and beyond through at least half a dozen other conflicts. But without question, he says, this war has been the hardest, testing his flock and his faith. “We’ve lost everything. We lost trust, we lost relations. For many families, they lost jobs. They lost everything. My community in Gaza, they lost houses, and the future…” he said, trailing off in thought. Pizzaballa has visited Gaza twice since the war began, once last May and again shortly before Christmas. “The emotional impact was very strong,” he acknowledged, with a “heavy, heavy impression about the situation.” It was his faith that carried him through. Tested, challenged, sometimes even doubted, but stronger in the end for all of the questions along the way. And this is how he would define most of a lifetime spent leading a church. “Faith is the only thing you can grasp, you can keep alive, in your life,” he said. And, when all else fails, “faith is a way to transcend yourself, to go beyond yourself. Faith is to believe in someone else.” During his visits to Gaza, he bought food from the Muslim community in Jerusalem, stored it with a Jewish company, and brought it to the Christians in the besieged coastal enclave. “I see in this sea of darkness, a lot of lights everywhere, and this is what gives me hope,” he said. Pizzaballa’s ease with himself and his authenticity have won him the hearts of Jerusalemites. His parishioners, mostly Palestinians, see in him an affirmation of their own ancient ties to the roots of Christian identity. As he tucked himself into the black sedan that would take him to Ben Gurion Airport, and to the conclave, some patriarchate employees, and friends who came specifically to accompany him for the momentous occasion encircled the vehicle and sang a blessing, in Arabic. “Lord, guide his steps with wisdom, fill his heart with spirit, and be with him if it is your prayer for him to lead your Church,” they chanted. It was a tender sendoff verging on a farewell. Pizzaballa, as is his wont, did not engage in any such sentimentality, ending his brief pre-departure remarks with the request that people pray for him, and a simple, brisk “see you soon.”