Reading about the Pope’s visit to America, talking with my parents who live in Boston, and hearing about the reactions of the visit on abuse victims, I was struck, and pleasantly surprised, by the holiness of the Pontiff’s visit. The abuse scandals that were first uncovered in Boston a few years ago, rocked the Church and shook people’s faith in God, their community, and the men assigned to lead it. Abuse is most often done in secret, so while its victims’ faith had been shaken long ago, when the atrocities were made public, an entire people had to grapple with a new reality. Their own priests were doing evil and causing irrevocable harm to their children. Everything that parents had once considered a given (that their children were safe at church, that their priest was a God-fearing, people loving man) came tumbling down around them. To say that this caused a crisis of faith is an understatement.

In Judaism, the word for holiness is קדושה, kedusha - and it is a word reserved for God and truly holy moments. We say קידוש, kiddush, the blessing over wine, in order to sanctify ritual moments such as the Passover seder, Shabbat meals, and life cycle events. Marriage is called קדושין, kiddushin, because it is a union of holiness. The Hebrew language is made up of sets of root letters. So you can notice that the letters ק, ד, ש (K, D, Sh) make up the root letters for holiness.

Not subscribing to the Catholic religion, I wasn’t quite as moved by the Pope’s visit as others. But even as an outsider, I sensed an element of קדושה (holiness) in the Pope. People believe in him. They see him as an intermediary between them and God. So when he sat down with the victims of the abuse scandal that rocked the church, many of those now-grown-children saw him as a messenger of God. And in those meetings, they found some element of relief.

In my mind, childhood sexual abuse is the antithesis of קדושה, kedusha. There is little in this world that could be less holy than abuse. And while abuse is always devastating, perhaps having it perpetrated by clergy members made it doubly-traumatizing. Not only were the victims being abused physically, but they were abused spiritually as well. As representatives of God, by abusing children, the priests were not only acting as their own agents, but agents of God as well. In effect, it is not surprising that many of these children grew up to feel that God had abused them. And when God (or a priest) is your abuser, who do you turn to for help?

At my Passover seder, a distant relative asked me what I thought about the abuse scandals. Was there something about the Church that made it more common? Or was he being naive in thinking that it only happened in Christianity, he asked. I told him that I clearly thought that it was a naive opinion to believe that it didn’t happen in other religions. Perhaps the priesthood is more susceptible because of the vow against marriage. Sometimes people who were pre-disposed to not being able to be married (whether they be gay, abuse victims themselves, or otherwise unable to maintain a close relationship with a woman) gravitate towards a profession that praises their choice to not marry. And perhaps if you are choosing priesthood for the wrong reasons, you make un-priest-like choices.

That said, I will in no way try to tell you that it doesn’t happen in other religions too. I can speak more eloquently about the issue in Judaism. But I have no doubt that abuse occurs in Muslim communities, Protestant communities, atheist communities, and as America has recently seen, in Morman communities. It is happening across all political, racial, religious, and national boundaries.

Although I am in no way advocating for a return to the priestly system that the Bible speaks about for Judaism - a piece of me does wish that there was one central figure, commonly regarded as God’s representative, able to offer absolution for all the wrongs that have been done. For all of our children who were abused, for all of their friends and families whose lives have been turned upside down - I wish God could offer His listening ear, His understanding, and His sorrow.

I’m in awe, and a bit jealous, of the amount of relief that the Pope was able to provide for some of the Boston victims that he met with. I know that his mere presence wasn’t a magic cure, and still left some just as jaded as before. But his calming, pastoral presence converted many lapsed Catholics who had been hurt by the church’s lack of attention towards the crisis. And I think he made a bit of a believer out of me as well - he reminded me of God’s presence here on earth, and that God chooses many different venues to make Himself known. And I think that this past week, God chose the Pope as a messenger to bring healing to so many who need it.