As soon as Passover was over, I started walking over to Stop’n Shop to buy a frozen pizza. The truth is, it took nearly the whole holiday to finish leftovers from the seder, and I loved my mom’s brisket and sweet potatoes. But I was ready for some chametz. As I got to the parking lot, Shalzed called.

“Did you hear that Israel passed a law giving the death penalty for Palestinian terrorists, while exempting Israelis?” he asked.

“I heard.” There had been lots of talk about it at shul.

“So the same crime gets different punishments depending on who does it?” Shalzed asked.

That made me feel uncomfortable, but Israel also has special security challenges to deal with. “It’s to deter terrorists,” I said.

“But there can be terrorists on both sides.” The Stop’n Shop sign began to look twisted, and the grocery store seemed to be getting farther away. “Punishments should be the same, no matter who commits the crime.”

Stop’n Shop seemed to dissolve into thin air. It felt like I was in a thick fog. I extended my arms but couldn’t feel anything around me. Then I was in what I could tell at once was an Israeli settlement due to the rows of red-roofed houses rising against the dry, hilly landscape. Shalzed was next to me, and he immediately stepped forward and called to a heavyset man wearing a suit and large kippah who was about to get into the back seat of a large, black car that was waiting in the driveway. “Why should the death penalty be only for Palestinians, but not Israelis?” Shalzed asked.

It was easy to recognize that he was talking to was Itamar Ben Gvir, since his picture was in the news so often. He gave Shalzed a long look. “It’s not just about Palestinians, the new law applies to anyone who’s goal is to destroy the state of Israel,” he said.

“So why doesn’t it apply to Israelis who kill Palestinians?” Shalzed asked.

I really hoped Ben Gvir wouldn’t respond with something about how the Torah regards killing Jews as more severe than killing people who aren’t Jewish. “Thou shalt not murder applies to everybody,” I added.

A woman came out of the house, holding something in her hand. As soon as she saw us she stepped back inside, behind the door, probably because her head was uncovered. “Itamar, you forgot something,” she yelled.

Ben Gvir seemed annoyed, but went back. Then he smiled when he saw what was in her hand.  It was a pin with an image of a noose that he promptly put on his jacket. It made me upset how he celebrated the death penalty like that. “What’s discriminatory is calling Palestinian terrorists freedom fighters and saying that Palestinians who have killed Jews are somehow political prisoners who should be set free,” Ben Gvir said as he reapproached the car.

“What does that have to do with the death penalty?” I asked.

He turned to face me, hands on hips. He seemed so adamant that I almost felt frightened and took a step back. “The human rights groups are so racist and biased that they want every Palestinian prisoner released, no matter their crimes. If we don’t use the death penalty, they’ll keep trying to force us to set them free.”

Shalzed frowned. “There are Palestinians Israel has held in prison for years,” he said.

Ben Gvir shook his head. “Look at how many we had to free to get the hostages from Gaza. Every minute we keep Palestinians alive in jail, it’s an incentive for them to take hostages to trade. And the world encourages it.”

He was certainly right about that. I thought back on when Israel released over a thousand prisoners in return for Gilad Shalit. “But will it really work?” I asked. “Even if Israel executes Palestinians guilty of murder, there will still be lots more in jail.”

“It’ll be a deterrent,” Ben Gvir said. His phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said b’seder. “Bibi wants to talk to me, and he’s coming on the line in a minute.”

“Haven’t most Earth countries stopped using the death penalty altogether?” Shalzed asked.

Ben Gvir gave him a funny look. “Not Iran. Not Saudi Arabia- they carry out executions at a rate of one person per day. Hamas executes anyone they believe is a traitor. And the world is all up in arms because we want to kill terrorists.” Ben Gvir raised his palms in the air.

“The Jewish tradition is very hesitant about the death penalty,” I said. Last year, in my 8^th grade  class, I had the kids read the Mishnah which says that a beit din which carries out the death penalty more than once in seventy years is a killer court.

“That’s in normal times,” Ben Gvir said. “Today we have a whole Palestinian society trying to destroy us, while most of the world applauds.”

I heard a voice that sounded like Bibi come from Ben Gvir’s phone. He gave us a wave, then jumped into the back seat of the car as he put the phone to his ear. The driveway started to look curved, and then wavy, as the car sped off. A moment later I was back outside Stop’n Shop.

When I got to the entrance, a guy wearing a store apron was opening the door to let people out. “We’re closed,” he called at me.

I decided to try 7 Eleven. On the way, I passed a house with signs that said ‘End Israel Apartheid’ and ‘Equal Rights for Equal People’ in every window. I understood why Israel wanted the death penalty. But if the same crime leads to death for Palestinians but not Israelis, is there really equal justice?