Israel's Dangerous New Bill: Death Pen­alty as a Defense of Col­lec­tive Des­tiny

On 10 November 2025, the Knesset approved in first reading a bill titled "Death Penalty for Terrorists Law". The Parliament's session was turbulent. Member of Knesset (MK) Ayman Odeh’s (Hadash) speech provoked near-violence with National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, a long-time advocate of capital punishment. When the vote concluded, Ben-Gvir distributed baklava to celebrate the outcome.

The proposal, submitted by MK Limor Son Har-Melech of Ben-Gvir's far-right Otzma Yehudit party, passed by 39 votes to 16. It will now return to the Knesset Committee on National Security for preparation for its second and third readings.

The bill seeks to enshrine capital punishment as a visible expression of state authority. Even if adopted by the Knesset, whether such authority will only be symbolically added to the books, or exercised as a matter of criminal law enforcement, is not yet clear.

There has never been a mandatory death penalty—until now

Israel has had the death penalty on its books since its founding, but it has almost never used it. The only execution carried out under Israeli law was that of Adolf Eichmann in 1962. Of course, the Eichmann trial was a foundational event in the country's legal and political culture. In some ways it amounted to a "show trial", as Hannah Arendt famously argued. And yet, it is unquestionable that the trial served to consolidate a new state's identity through a ritual of justice.

Since then, successive governments have preserved capital punishment in the statutes while refraining from its use. Israeli sociologist Ron Dudai has shown that this restraint was not accidental. It reflected an institutional consensus that executing human beings for crimes would compromise Israel's self-image as a rule-of-law state, while the mere presence of the death penalty served to signal toughness toward enemies. Periodic legislative initiatives, usually following major terror attacks, have invoked deterrence, but rarely advanced beyond committee discussion.

The present bill therefore belongs to a long lineage of political theatre surrounding the death penalty. What distinguishes it from earlier efforts is not the rationale—deterrence and nationalist retributivism. What's new here is, first, that it looks like it will pass into law; and second, its mandatory nature. The bill abolishes judicial discretion and makes it a duty for judges to sentence those convicted of terrorism crimes to death.

Bill Exclusively Targets Palestinians

The bill amends Section 301A of Israel's Penal Law, 1977. It provides that anyone who intentionally or indifferently causes the death of an Israeli citizen "from motives of hostility toward the public or to harm the State of Israel and the revival of the Jewish people in its land" shall be punished by death "and by that penalty alone." The word "Palestinians"—a disputed identity category among Israeli Members of the Knesset—of course does not appear in the bill. Clearly, however, the bill is not intended for Jewish suspect of national security offenses. It is rather directed exclusively at Palestinians. It is noteworthy that under Palestinian law the death penalty exists as well. Outside Gaza, death sentences have become rare. In the Gaza Strip, Hamas repeatedly enforces executions against Palestinians accused of "collaborating with Israel".

Coming back to Israel's new bill, the wording "and by that penalty alone" removes all judicial discretion. In contrast to existing law, which sets life imprisonment as the standard sentence for murder but allows mitigation, the proposed amendment makes death the only permissible outcome once the specified intent is proven. This is an exceptional measure even in systems that retain capital punishment, where sentencing discretion and clemency powers serve as minimal safeguards. 

West Bank Military Courts May Decide by Simple Majority

Of course, the bill violates individual rights such as the right to life and due process. For example, it implicitly prevents individuals who have been convicted from appealing on their sentence. How can one appeal on the sentence when the sentence is mandatory? Further, such an example makes plain that the bill does not only violate individual rights. It is also an affront to the judiciary as such. 

Arguably, removing all discretion from judges in the sentencing phase of death penalty cases destroys judicial decision-making as such. While criminal law demands a distinction between punishment and revenge, the bill transforms the judiciary into an instrument of revenge, now demanded by the elected branches. From this perspective, the bill ignores any principle of separation of powers. and it is part and parcel of a now-longstanding attack not only against the rights of Palestinian detainees, but also on the judiciary. 

Further, the bill directs the Minister of Defence to order that military courts in the West Bank may impose the death penalty by a simple majority, replacing the current requirement of unanimity among the three-judge panel. These panels are typically composed of officers in reserve service, not necessarily career military jurists. Reducing the threshold for a death sentence in such forums, already operating under occupation law and without the full guarantees of civilian criminal procedure, raises acute concerns about false convictions.

It's not about Punishment—it's about Revenge

Finally, the bill's explanatory part states that life imprisonment "does not deter terrorists," many of whom allegedly expect release in prisoner exchanges. The amendment is therefore justified as a measure of deterrence. 

But no relevant empirical evidence could be offered to support this claim. Rather, the text adds a theological-national register, invoking "the revival of the Jewish people in its land." In so doing, it frames the death penalty not merely as punishment for crime but as a defence of collective destiny. Once again, this is not the language of criminal punishment, but the language of revenge. 

This combination of elements marks a paradigmatic shift in Israel's penal doctrine when it comes to national security. The law conflates criminal culpability with ideological identity: it is addressed not to what a person has done but to who they are. It thus aligns with broader governmental trends that seek to transform the judiciary into an instrument of an ultra-nationalist agenda.

The Hangman's Perspective

The bill has yet to become law. Even if enacted, its practical implementation is uncertain. Israel has lived for decades with capital punishment in name only. No government has yet been willing to bear the legal, diplomatic, and moral costs of actual executions. The new proposal omits any reference to how the death penalty would be carried out, by whom, or under what procedural safeguards, if any.

History suggests that this omission is deliberate. As Dudai's research shows, the political utility of the death penalty often lies in its symbolic assertion of sovereignty rather than its execution. The state declares its right to kill but refrains from killing, thereby performing the ultimate prerogative of power without assuming its burdens.

The only time Israel crossed the line from symbolism to practice—the Eichmann hanging—illuminates what implementation entails. In my own research on that event, I explored what I called the hangman's perspective: the experience of Shalom Nagar, the prison guard who was chosen to carry out the execution. Nagar's Yemenite identity here is relevant. As he explained, he was selected intentionally due to his non-European background. Any Jewish-European prison guard would, according to this view, be prone to kill the prisoner before the process ends, replacing judicial restraint with an act of revenge.

Nagar's trauma after the act, his later turn to religion, and his lifelong ambivalence about his role reveal the hidden cost of translating legal judgment into physical death. The logistics here are important: hanging, as Nagar explains, is a viscerally painful thing to witness. What technique will Israel choose for the many executions that this new bill seeks to require? The Eichmann case, viewed through Nagar's eyes, exposes the human and institutional toll exacted—not only on the sentenced individual but also on the executioner—when the state enacts rather than merely proclaims the power to kill.

What the Law Would Mean for Israel

If the new bill ultimately passes, such questions will arise. Who will serve as executioner? Can a polity sustain the moral weight of such acts without further tearing up its own legitimacy not only internationally, but also in the eyes of its citizens? 

In a country where the alleged rape of a Gaza detainee has been met with public applause, and the military prosecutor who sought accountability has become a target of persecution, it is no longer certain that the death penalty will remain on the books. The law may be meant only as declaration, a display of sovereign power over life and death. 

Yet the line between the expressive aspect of the law, and its execution, has grown perilously thin. Whether this gesture ends in an actual hanging or remains theatre will test not the law, but the society expected to enforce it.

Itamar Mann is a professor of international law, human rights, environmental law, and legal theory at the University of Haifa, Israel.