The news about the decision by the Knesset to pass legislation mandating the death penalty for Palestinians convicted of terrorism by military tribunals in the West Bank upset me more than I expected. My first reaction was purely visceral: the law immediately felt so wrong that it was as if something very dear to me had suddenly become mortally ill. Images of Itamar Ben-Gvir celebrating its passage with champagne only amplified that feeling. It took a few days for those emotions to give way to a more reflective frame of mind. Any analysis born of such strong emotions is inevitably biased. Yet I hope I was able to translate the initial revolt into arguments that are rational and defensible.

The first thing I realized was that despite my initial fixation on Ben-Gvir, my reaction was not simply a political disagreement with the current government, even though I do not agree with many of its internal policies. Normally I avoid commenting on such matters, since as a non-citizen of Israel, it is usually not my business. This case, however, touched something deeper: my understanding of the moral foundations on which the Jewish state was meant to stand, and the realization of the potentially destructive effect this law could have on its future, and on the future of world Jewry. For that reason I felt I could not remain silent. Not because my voice can change anything, but because it was important for me, as a Zionist Jew, to raise it.

Let me begin by stating that I understand the emotional climate in which this law was passed, or at least I believe that I understand it, from conversations with my family, who lives in Israel, and from experiencing firsthand the losses of October 7 – some of the victims are people whom I personally knew. It is hard to deny that the October 7 attack was a deeply traumatic event that left Israeli society shaken and wounded. The subsequent war against Hamas, with its inconclusive results, and the rise of anti-Israel and antisemitic rhetoric around the world did little to heal this wound.

I can understand this law as an attempt at healing, in the hope that it might deter future attacks. At the same time, to me it indicates that Israel is giving in to a very natural but ultimately unhealthy impulse to exact vengeance. It may even reflect a deeply felt and rarely acknowledged sense of shame for having allowed October 7 to happen. But vengeance, shame,  emotions more generally, are poor guides for policymaking. Jews are supposed to be wise, and this law is not an act of wisdom.

The flaws of this law lie on several intersecting planes. I am not a jurist, but one does not have to be one to see the purely legal problems embedded in it and the rather clumsy attempts to explain them away. The most obvious problem is the asymmetry built into the legislation. It applies to Palestinians tried in military courts in the West Bank while excluding Jews who commit terrorist acts against Palestinians. This is formally explained by pointing to the existence of different systems of jurisdiction operating in the territories: Jews are subject to Israeli criminal and civil law, while Palestinians are subject to military tribunals.

Yet this explanation merely describes the existing legal arrangement rather than justifying it. In practice Israel routinely arrests Palestinians suspected of terrorism and places them in Israeli custody, demonstrating that nothing in principle prevents such cases from being prosecuted within Israel’s ordinary criminal justice system with its established due-process protections. The decision to introduce capital punishment specifically within the military court system therefore has little to do with law. This is largely a political arrangement expressing burning desire of the part of the electorate to exact revenge. Such motivation runs against centuries of Western legal tradition rooted in Enlightenment thought, a tradition to which Israel claims to belong. Criminal law should not be created as an act of retaliation but as a tool for maintaining a just and stable social order. The death penalty is among the most extreme powers a state can exercise, and historically Israel has treated it with extraordinary restraint. It has used capital punishment only once, in the case of Adolf Eichmann, under circumstances widely understood to be unique in the history of the Jewish people. Expanding the death penalty now, in the immediate emotional aftermath of mass violence, risks transforming law into an instrument of vengeance rather than justice.

Even more troubling is the law’s treatment of due process, or rather the lack thereof. Reports indicate that it sharply limits the possibility of appeal and shortens the time between conviction and execution. Even within the framework of military justice, where procedural standards already differ from those of civilian courts, this rejection of the normal safeguards surrounding capital punishment is jarring. Precisely because the death penalty is irreversible, legal systems that employ it are morally obliged to surround it with the strongest procedural protections. Curtailing those protections and accelerating the path from conviction to execution undermines the very idea of careful judicial scrutiny. Even for military courts operating under the pressures of an ongoing conflict, this is a bridge too far.

From a political standpoint, by passing this law Israel is shooting itself in the leg. By creating a death-penalty regime that operates only within a  legal system specific to the conditions of occupation, Israel inevitably draws renewed attention to this continuing problem, attention that it would be wiser not to attract. Whatever the formal legal explanations may be, the reality that much of the world will see is simple: the continuing occupation allows Israel to treat Palestinians differently from Jews by applying the death penalty only to the former.

For Israel’s critics, this distinction will provide powerful rhetorical ammunition. The accusation that Israel operates an apartheid-like system has long been central to anti-Israel activism. Whether that accusation is fair or not, this law will make it far easier to advance. Supporters of the law will dismiss this argument as irrelevant: Israel has been accused of apartheid before and will continue to be accused of it regardless of what it does. That may well be true. But there are nuances.

Debates about Israel’s global image often collapse into two opposing narratives. One claims that the policies of Israel’s current government are primarily responsible for the growing hostility toward Israel and for the insecurity felt by Jews in the diaspora. The other insists that anti-Zionism is simply a new form of anti-Jewish hatred and that nothing Israel does can meaningfully influence global attitudes.

Both narratives contain some truth, but both are also serious oversimplifications. There have always been people who hate Jews simply because they are Jews and who oppose Israel simply because it exists. But these people are not the majority. Most people around the world are not deeply invested in Israel one way or the other. Their views are shaped largely by the news they see and the stories that reach them. I see this dynamic in my own life. My son’s girlfriend had no particular opinion about Israel until recently. Her view has turned negative not because she joined an ideological movement but because of the  images she has encountered in the news about the policies of the current Israeli government. Laws such as the one just passed by the Knesset will inevitably influence the perceptions of people like her, people who might otherwise remain neutral or even somewhat sympathetic. Ironically, the damage will occur even though the law does not apply to Arab citizens of Israel. Nuances of legal jurisdiction rarely survive the translation into political narratives. What the world will see is simple: one set of rules for Jews, another for Palestinians.

Even if one sets aside the moral and legal concerns, the strategic logic behind this law is also deeply flawed. The assumption is that the threat of execution will deter terrorism. That assumption is very likely wrong. Introducing the death penalty does not simply increase the cost of terrorism, it changes the incentives surrounding it. When capture carries the certainty of execution, smaller and more opportunistic attacks: stabbings, car-ramming attacks, or shootings become strategically less attractive. If the likely outcome is death anyway, the rational calculation for those willing to carry out attacks shifts toward maximizing the damage before that death occurs. The incentive structure begins to favor attacks designed to inflict the largest possible number of casualties. In practice this means a return to the type of terrorism Israel experienced during the Second Intifada: suicide bombings. Instead of reducing violence, the law could therefore push terrorism toward fewer but far more lethal attacks. A policy intended to increase Israeli security could end up producing the opposite effect.

At this point a reasonable question arises: do I, as someone who is not an Israeli citizen, have the right to pass judgment on an internal Israeli law? I believe I do, for two reasons. One is practical: decisions made in Israel inevitably affect Jews living outside it. The consequences of Israeli policy are felt not only in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv but also in Jewish communities across the world. But the deeper reason is more fundamental. Israel was not created merely as another nation-state. Its very purpose, its raison d’être, was to serve as a sanctuary for the Jewish people. As a Jew living abroad, I count on it to be there for me in a time of need. Accordingly, I feel deeply connected to it and invested in its moral and political direction.

I admire Israel profoundly and remain deeply moved by its extraordinary achievements. Few nations in modern history have accomplished so much under such difficult circumstances. I can accept differences of opinion about the political direction Israel should take. I do not belong to the deeply disillusioned writers and readers of Haaretz who have concluded that the entire Zionist project has failed. But I also believe that if Israel wishes to continue to play the role of physical and spiritual sanctuary for Jews around the world, its policies must reflect the wisdom and moral seriousness that the Jewish historical experience has taught us to value. Opinions about how those values should be expressed may be as diverse as those found on the pages of the Talmud. Yet even that famously argumentative tradition placed strict limits on punishment and treated the taking of life by courts with extreme caution. I am not a Talmudic scholar, but I challenge anyone to point to a passage in the Talmud that would justify a death penalty imposed without meaningful recourse, as this law proposes.

In addition to the troublesome nature of the law itself, the reaction of many of its supporters to the criticism is no less troubling. Disagreement with a particular policy of the state, especially one as controversial as this one, does not make someone an anti-Zionist. Yet this is precisely the accusation that has been leveled against people who have publicly criticized it. The Zionist project was never meant to require silence or uniformity of opinion. On the contrary, Jewish political life has always been characterized by vigorous internal debate about what is wise and what is not. Treating criticism itself as disloyalty risks narrowing that space for debate at precisely the moment when it is most needed.

Unfortunately, the passage of this law also reflects a broader shift in Israeli public attitudes since October 7. Israel increasingly finds itself trapped in a dangerous political feedback loop. The more hostility the world expresses toward Israel, the more Israelis feel isolated and defensive. That defensiveness encourages harder political positions and more aggressive policies. Those policies in turn intensify the negative perception of Israel abroad. Breaking such a cycle requires political wisdom and confidence. Acting primarily out of wounded pride or fear may provide a sense of emotional satisfaction, but it rarely produces sound policy.

Understanding why the Knesset passed this law does not mean endorsing it. On the contrary, precisely because the motivations behind it are understandable, it is all the more important to recognize its dangers. This law risks strengthening Israel’s enemies, alienating people who might otherwise remain sympathetic to Israel, and potentially encouraging the very violence it seeks to prevent. Israel has always drawn strength not only from its military power but also from a reputation for moral seriousness and political judgment forged through difficult history. Laws born of vengeance rather than wisdom place that reputation at risk.

 

 

A professor of physics at Queens College, CUNY, with 100+ peer-reviewed publications and a textbook on quantum mechanics and with broad interests beyond his field. He is also a member of CAFI—the CUNY Alliance for Inclusion, a faculty coalition combating antisemitism in academia. He writes about Israel, Jews, and the Academia by building rational arguments grounded in facts and history preferring reason over slogans, facts over partisanship. Politically, he describes himself as an Israel loving critical Zionist—supportive of Jewish self-determination and security, candid about Israeli policy failures, and a classical liberal with a libertarian bent. He supports Ukraine’s fight against Russian aggression and opposes populist and illiberal trends in U.S. politics on the right (Trumpism) and on the left (the democratic-socialist wing of the Democratic Party)