During the pre-state era of Mandatory Palestine, certain factions within the Revisionist Zionist movement fostered a complex reverence for the concept of the gallows, viewing the willingness to face execution as a symbol of ultimate sacrifice in the struggle for national liberation. This historical dimension has taken on new resonance in contemporary Israeli politics, illustrated most recently by National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir’s use of imagery from Jerusalem’s Museum of Underground Prisoners, where he appeared beside a hangman’s noose while calling for the application of the death penalty against Arab terrorists.

The gallows myth originated in the 1930s among radical elements of the Revisionist movement, such as Brit Habiryonim, Betar youth, and the Irgun underground militia. These groups critiqued the more moderate Zionist leadership, which they considered complacent and overly conciliatory toward British Mandatory authorities. Drawing inspiration from revolutions in Russia and Ireland, leaders like Abba Ahimeir and Yehoshua Heschel Yevin propagated the idea that the path to Jewish national liberation would require violent confrontation and personal sacrifice, with imprisonment and execution seen as honorable stages in this struggle.

One of the first and most emblematic figures in this narrative was Shlomo Ben-Yosef, a Betar member executed by the British in 1938 following an attempted attack against Arab civilians during the Arab Revolt. Despite efforts from Zionist leadership to prevent his execution, Ben-Yosef embraced his fate, intending to become a martyr and embody the ideal of the "oleh hagardom"—one who ascends to the gallows. His comportment before his hanging, including patriotic acts and messages, contributed to a lasting mythologization of the gallows-era militants as heroic national figures.

This mythology was controversial within the broader Yishuv (Jewish community in pre-state Palestine) and was actively marginalized by the early Israeli government under David Ben-Gurion, which sought to downplay the symbolic importance of such figures in the new state’s official memory. Nonetheless, the gallows myth gradually reemerged in public consciousness from the 1960s onward, gaining greater institutional recognition, particularly under Menachem Begin’s Likud government from 1977. The narrative became increasingly intertwined with themes of religious martyrdom and right-wing nationalism, finding resonance in movements such as Gush Emunim and among religious Zionist youth.

The contemporary invocation of this myth by figures like Ben-Gvir demonstrates an evolution in its meaning. Originally a symbol of self-sacrifice by those fighting for Jewish sovereignty, the gallows imagery today is often employed as a tool of assertion by state actors seeking to exercise power over perceived enemies. This marks a shift from identifying with those condemned to die to adopting the perspective of the executioner. Critics argue that this reframing reflects a broader ideological move away from earlier Zionist principles that balanced nationalism with moral restraint, toward a paradigm where force and retributive justice are prioritized.

Moreover, historical experience suggests that the use of capital punishment has not proven effective in eradicating terrorism, raising doubts about utilitarian justifications for the death penalty. Instead, the reemergence of the gallows myth appears to stem from deep-seated desires for vengeance and control, coupled with a dehumanization of the adversary.

The transformation of the gallows myth—from a symbol of sacrifice in the context of anti-colonial struggle to an emblem of sovereign power and punitive authority—raises ongoing questions about the trajectory of Israeli national identity and policy. It highlights tensions between justice and force, mercy and retribution, and points to a contested legacy in Israel’s political culture concerning how history informs present-day actions and aspirations.