Pius XII was pope through most of my childhood. Though I never remember my parents speaking his name, a framed blessing from him, adorned with his severe profile, hung on the wall of our apartment.
No one ever intimated to me that he was immortal, but my young mind assumed he was. When he died, in October, 1958, I remember going with my class into a hushed and darkened church to pray for his soul.
It is now the controversy over Pius’s conduct during the Holocaust that seems...
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