ROME — As dusk approached on a serene Sunday evening, Hasan Zaheda entertained his son with a game of basketball in the small courtyard of their basement apartment on the outskirts of Rome. The family, survivors of the ravages in Syria, are slowly piecing their lives back together. They fled Damascus amid the chaos of civil war, carrying only essentials like a change of clothes, diapers, and milk for their young child. Absent are any photographs from Syria; however, adorning their current home is a cherished picture of young Riad meeting Pope Francis. Nearly ten years ago, the pontiff brought them from refugee camps in the Greek island of Lesbos to Italy alongside two other Muslim families.
“Pope Francis is like a divine gift for us,” Zaheda remarked with a smile. “He’s a blessing from God who rescued us.” As Ramadan began, the family maintained constant prayers for Pope Francis, who, at 88, was undergoing treatment for pneumonia in a nearby hospital. “We can’t help but follow his health updates daily,” said Nour Essa, Zaheda’s wife, reflecting on their unexpected encounter with the Pope in Lesbos. “What surprised me most was the Pope’s humility—he holds no biases and approaches all ethnicities with openness.”
The family’s journey to Italy on the Pope’s flight was one of the defining migrant advocacy gestures of Francis’ tenure. They vividly remember how the pontiff warmly greeted Riad, brushing his hand across the child’s head while engaging with journalists on board. While their passage felt miraculous, it marked just the beginning of a new chapter of life in Italy, to which the family is still acclimating.
Essa, a trained biologist, and Zaheda, who worked as an architect in Damascus, decided to escape Syria in 2015 when Zaheda was conscripted by the military. They sold their house to pay a smuggler, navigating silently through the desert night, undergoing grueling truck journeys, and contending with ISIS-controlled territories before reaching Turkey. Despite multiple unsuccessful attempts, they finally made it to Lesbos at the beginning of 2016.
“I’m grateful my son was too young to remember these ordeals,” Essa reflected, with Riad absorbed in a Syrian TV drama next to his grandfather, who joined them a year later. The poignant art of the parents—white faces enveloped by swirling red and black—decorates the living room, vividly capturing their harrowing memories.
Following over a month in Lesbos, an unexpected encounter changed their fate. They were approached by Daniela Pompei, leading migration and integration for the Catholic charity Sant’Egidio. She sought families that fit the criteria for relocating with the Pope to Rome. The Zahedas were selected, and with support from the Vatican, the charity eventually facilitated the relocation of over 300 refugees from Greece, along with 150 from a separate papal trip to Cyprus in 2021.
Sant’Egidio’s mission was to offer migrants an alternative to risky sea crossings across the Mediterranean, which historically claimed countless lives. True integration, however, lies beyond mere relocation—it encompasses navigating asylum processes, learning the local language, educational opportunities, and employment. Initiatives like that of the Pope underscore societal willingness to embrace refugees, transcending religious or cultural barriers.
“The Pope’s vision was for every parish to adopt a family, combating what he described as ‘the globalization of indifference,’” according to Pompei. In a testament to their resilience, the Zahedas, speaking in a soft Roman accent they’ve acquired, shared their experiences. Re-enrolling in university for degree recognition, aiding family migration to Europe, and nurturing their son constitute their daily lives.
Amidst their commitments, they find little opportunity for social interaction with other Syrian families or migrants who populate their housing estate and Riad’s school. Riad’s closest friend is Ecuadorian, and he hopes to learn Spanish in middle school. He plays on a local basketball team, his room adorned with sports photos and a sizable Syrian flag. Despite being well-versed in English through books like The Little Prince, his grasp of Arabic remains tentative, despite time spent with his sketch-loving grandfather.
For Sunday’s iftar, the family sat around a table garnished with yogurt-chickpea tisiyeh salad and Roman-style pizza. As Riad prepared his backpack for school, his parents pondered the future anchored by their son. Settling in Italy symbolizes a stable beacon against the uncertainties in France or Syria,
a homeland now a distant memory. “My hope is for him to forge his future and succeed as a son of an undocumented migrant, leaving a legacy in this new nation,” Zaheda aspired.
