The notion of a women serving as pontifex maximus, the bishop of Rome, sovereign of papal states, and the visible head of the Catholic Church – seems incongruous. Yet a legend first recorded in the thirteenth century identifies just such a figure: Pope Joan.
According to the account, Joan was a talented and learned woman who posed as a man and rose through church ranks until she was elected as pope. During her reign as supreme pontiff she became pregnant, but that seemed to go unnoticed. At a public event – a procession in Rome or while delivering a sermon in St. Peter’s square – she gave birth. That was the end of her papacy – she either died in childbirth, or was stoned by the mob, or deposed and exiled as penance.
Until the 17 th century, chroniclers and artists assumed that indeed there had been a popess. Later, the tale’s historicity was questioned. Proof of Joan’s existence is indeed lacking. Why do no contemporary sources mention her? Was she active in the 9 th century, or perhaps the early 12 th century? Was she an historical figure with details of her life scrubbed from the official record? Perhaps the tale emerged as a satire of effeminate popes? Or perhaps the story is a fable designed to discredit the church?
Whether or not the Pope Joan legend has historical roots, the tale could reflect justification or subversion. Versions that highlight Joan’s dishonesty and immorality can be read as explanations for the patriarchy. Narratives that emphasis her upstanding character and acumen could be read as challenges to the all-male environment of Catholic leadership.
Indeed, the place of women in religious communities is a contemporary dilemma that confronts many traditional societies. Vatican City – the world’s smallest independent state – is the only state in the world where women do not have the right to vote for the head of state (most men in Vatican City do not have that right either). In October 2023, the late Pope Francis (1936-2025) allowed women to vote at the Synod of Bishops for the first time. Notwithstanding, at the recent conclave, only men voted to elect Pope Leo XIV.
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Pope Joan’s cross-dressing was a means to gain access to spiritual and educational opportunities. This is reminiscent of the short story “Yentl the Yeshiva Boy” by Nobel laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer (1903-1991). Bashevis Singer’s tale was adapted for the stage and then served as the basis for the 1983 romantic musical Yentl, directed by Barbra Streisand (b. 1942) who starred as the eponymous character. Yet apart from overlapping themes, it would seem that the Pope Joan legend is unconnected to Jewish lore.
It is therefore surprising to find a version of the story in Knesset Yisrael – a 1906 collection of Hasidic tales, featuring Rabbi Yisrael Friedman of Rużyn (1796-1850).
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Two hasidic masters – the Maggid of Chernobyl Rabbi Motl Twersky (1770- 1837) and Rabbi Yisrael of Rużyn – were together when a man arrived and asked for spiritual assistance for his wife who was in labour. Each Hasidic master deferred to his colleague for performing a mystical rite to help the woman. Despite the impasse, Rabbi Yisrael of Rużyn began to relate a story.
The tale was a faithful version of the Pope Joan legend. As soon as Rabbi Yisrael finished the account, he declared: “Mazal Tov! Mazal Tov!” He then turned to the husband: “Go home because you wife has given birth to a boy.”
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As the new father left, the Maggid of Chernobyl turned to his younger colleague: “I am astounded to see a pidyon, a mystical rite of salvation, performed by telling a story.” The Holy Rużyner responded by asking Rabbi Motl what method he would have used to help the woman.
Rabbi Motl outlined his course: “You know that there are 600,000 letters in the Torah corresponding to the 600,000 souls of Israel. If – heaven forefend – a person sins, he mystically deforms the letter in the Torah that corresponds to his soul. Thus, when such a case [of painful childbirth] comes before me, I seek the letter that corresponds to the soul, I see how the flaw has come about, and I pray to God and repair the soul. And through this the person is saved.”
Rabbi Yisrael of Rużyn was unimpressed with this mystical rite: “But in the meantime, before the painful labour is remedied, how is there strength to bear the suffering of a Jewish person?” It is unclear who was being questioned: was the Holy Rużyner referring to the woman writhing in pain, her husband who was scurrying about to obtain mystical assistance, or – perhaps – he was wondering how his colleague could embark on this meditative process while another person was in anguish.
“And with this story that I recounted,” continued the Holy Rużyner, “Even if a simple person recounts it, it will affect salvation.”
Rabbi Motl was unconvinced: “Where did you get this idea that salvation can be achieved through storytelling?”
“From the holy Torah!” declared Rabbi Yisrael of Rużyn before explaining that his source was the biblical account where Eliezer the servant of Abraham did not eat the food offered by Bethuel (Genesis 24). According to rabbinic tradition, Eliezer sensed that something was amiss. Indeed, the food has been
poisoned. Instead of eating, Eliezer recounted that he was a messenger of Abraham. By dint of this mystical act of storytelling, an angel swapped Eliezer’s plate, and he was saved.
The Holy Rużyner concluded: This is what the sages mean when they say that the tales of the forefathers’ servants are more beloved than the Torah of the children (Rashi, Genesis 24:42) – mystical salvation by storytelling is more beloved than salvation through learned mystical rites.
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The Pope Joan legend had appeared in an earlier Jewish source: the traditional history textbook, Seder Ha-dorot (Karlsruhe 1769) by the rabbi of Minsk, Rabbi Yehiel Halperin (ca. 1660 – ca. 1746). The storyteller presumably saw the story there. Yet there is no evidence of the tale’s mystical valence – not in Seder Ha-dorot, nor in Christianity.
The Holy Rużyner was renowned for using storytelling as a theurgic practice. Thus, the encounter matches the Holy Rużyner’s persona and legacy. Nevertheless, it is surprising that the mystically potent story is take from Christian lore. The spiritual energy of storytelling in the Hasidic tradition is not just when we recount the stories of our people.
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The publisher, Reuven Zak, added a further layer of interpretation. Before recounting the tale in print, a short sub-heading presented in a different font declared: “We have a tradition to recount this tale to someone who is having difficulty in childbirth.” Thus, telling the story of the story is itself mystically potent.
If the Pope Joan narrative is mystically powerful, and telling the tale of that narrative is also potent, then perhaps recounting the story of the tale of the narrative might alleviate the pain of those in distress.
The writer is a senior faculty member at the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, a senior lecturer at Bar
Ilan University’s Faculty of Law, and a rabbi in Zur Hadassa.
