A serious and deeply emotional debate is unfolding in Israel: Should the state formally implement the death penalty for convicted terrorists?

National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir and members of his party have advanced legislation expanding capital punishment for those convicted of the most severe acts of terrorism. The proposal has already passed its preliminary reading in the Knesset, placing the issue squarely at the center of Israeli political life.

This debate is not theoretical. It reflects a society repeatedly wounded by deliberate acts of mass murder — and grappling with how justice should respond.

Technically, Israel already has the death penalty within its legal framework. It exists under military law and was carried out only once in the state’s history, in the case of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann in 1962. However, it has never been applied in terrorism cases.

Supporters argue that this gap between legal authority and enforcement weakens deterrence and undermines justice.

One argument is both moral and practical. Why should Israeli taxpayers finance the lifelong imprisonment of individuals who deliberately murdered civilians out of nationalist or antisemitic hatred? Housing, food, medical care, and security are funded by the state. For families who lost loved ones, the idea that those responsible continue to live at public expense feels profoundly unjust.

The case is not framed as revenge, but as proportional accountability. If someone consciously set out to massacre Jews because they were Jews — targeting families and children — is life imprisonment truly the ultimate consequence?

Another argument centers on deterrence and national security.

Israel has a history of prisoner exchanges in which convicted terrorists have been released in return for hostages. As long as such individuals remain alive in Israeli prisons, they can become bargaining chips. Their existence may incentivize future kidnappings, as militant groups seek leverage for negotiations.

From this perspective, the issue is not only punishment — it is prevention. If mass murder results in execution rather than imprisonment, the strategic calculus changes. Even if deterrence is not absolute, removing the possibility of future exchanges eliminates one incentive structure.

At the heart of the debate lies a deeper moral tension: “We are not like them. They murder civilians. We do not.”

Israel has long defined itself not only as strong, but as different from those who deliberately target innocents. It is a state born from historical trauma and committed to law over vengeance.

Yet supporters of capital punishment challenge this framing.

They ask: if the state is justified in using lethal force against terrorists on the battlefield — when they are actively attacking civilians — why does that moral authority disappear once the attacker is captured and convicted in court?

If someone can be lawfully killed during combat to prevent harm, why must permanent imprisonment automatically be the only outcome after guilt has been proven beyond doubt?

This argument does not blur moral lines. On the contrary, it insists on due process. Only after a full trial, overwhelming evidence, and the highest judicial standards would such a sentence be considered. The proposal envisions a narrowly tailored framework limited to the most extreme acts of deliberate mass murder.

Opponents raise serious concerns. They argue that capital punishment may not deter ideologically driven attackers who expect or even seek death. Some warn that executions could create martyrs. Others caution about diplomatic consequences and the irreversible nature of judicial error.

There is also the moral weight of granting the state irreversible power over life and death. Jewish tradition places immense value on human life. Democratic systems demand caution when wielding ultimate authority.

These concerns deserve respect. A democracy must never treat the power to execute lightly.

But there are moments when a society must draw clear moral boundaries.

Israel is not debating capital punishment for ordinary crime. It is debating whether those who carry out calculated, ideological mass murder — with the explicit goal of destroying Jewish life — should face the ultimate consequence.

In such narrowly defined and extreme cases, I believe the answer is yes.

This is not about anger. It is not about collective punishment. It is about recognizing that some crimes are so severe, so intentional, and so devastating that permanent imprisonment may not constitute proportional justice.

Israel has never hesitated to defend its citizens on the battlefield. It should not hesitate to affirm the moral weight of its justice system when guilt has been established beyond doubt in court.

Refusing to implement the death penalty can be seen as moral restraint. But it can also signal hesitation in the face of those who show no hesitation in slaughtering civilians.

A carefully limited death penalty would not diminish Israel’s moral standing. Properly structured, it would reinforce a clear message: Jewish life is not negotiable, not expendable, and not a bargaining chip.

Israel defines itself as both Jewish and democratic. The challenge is not choosing between those identities — it is upholding both under extraordinary pressure.

Strength and morality are not opposites. At times, they require difficult decisions.

When terrorism crosses into deliberate mass murder, and guilt is proven beyond any doubt, terror must have a cost.

And the law must reflect that reality.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)