Palestinian workers stand in line next to Israel’s separation wall as they wait to cross a checkpoint in Bethlehem. (Moti Milrod, Maan Images)

It's 6 A.M. on a cold winter morning in Tul Karm. In front of a narrow iron door in the long concrete wall that runs along Taybeh Street, hundreds of Palestinians in overalls and sweaters, carrying sandwich bags, wait for the door to open. Behind the iron door lies the Israeli industrial complex poetically named Nitzanei Hashalom - buds of peace. For many Palestinians, this is their last chance to find work.

Nitzanei Hashalom, sitting between Tul Karm and the separation fence, was established in 1995 as one of nine industrial parks planned for the West Bank. It has seven factories that employ some 700 Palestinians in various industries including the production of cartons, plastic parts, pesticides and poison.

"It's better than no work at all," says M., 35, on his job at the carton factory. The father of five comes here every day - six times a week, nine hours a day - for 11 shekels an hour. This is more than seven shekels less than the Israeli minimum wage. And for this salary, M. literally works himself to death. Why? Because he is a privileged man, he says.

"Of course I know the situation is bad, but at least I have a job. I can feed my family and send my children to school," he says.

But sometimes M. is overwhelmed with fear. Will his boss dismiss him if he asks for a raise, if he's late or becomes ill? It has happened before. Latecomers are punished and deprived of their job and their salary for at least a week. Rebels, the ill and the weak are fired on the spot.

"My boss can find 10 others to fill my place immediately," M. says. Therefore he leaves his home by 5 A.M., does not request the minimum wage, works when he is ill and during Muslim holidays, and has never had a vacation.

His colleague J., 10 years his senior, knows what happens if you protest.

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"I have been working in the Israeli wood factory here for 10 years. The company doesn't have a name, and I doubt it is even registered. I get 100 shekels per day for nine hours of work. There are 30 employees here. There's hardly any protection against the sun or rain, and the factory has no flooring. In the winter we stand in the mud. There is no toilet, and we are not allowed to leave, because this iron door opens only at 4 P.M. Can you imagine how dirty it gets, with 30 men? Two years ago, I finally found the courage to complain. You know what happened? I was sacked on the spot and sent home without pay. Two weeks later the phone rang. It was my boss. He said he would give me a last chance, but I had to shut up."

And that's what J. did. He doesn't complain about the lack of protective clothes, and he was silent when the boy Namer accidentally shot himself in the abdomen with the electric stapler and was sent home without pay.

But he admits he's furious. "The worst thing is, the manager doesn't really care. It's not that he treats us like animals. He just doesn't see us."

The separation fence has made Nitzanei Hashalom, as well as other Israeli settlements and estates near the barrier, more attractive for Israeli businessmen, says Shahiye Yacub, the Palestinian Employment Ministry representative in Tul Karm.

"The fence has worsened chronic Palestinian unemployment; 150,000 Palestinians who worked in Israel before 2000, legally or not, can no longer do so. And tens of thousands of farmers have been separated from their lands. Today, only some 10,000 people - this depends on the security situation - can enter Israel. Therefore, there is a growing amount of cheap Palestinian labor. These people are desperate and willing to take any job at practically any price. Meanwhile, Israeli businesses feel confident about properties near the wall because of the high level of security."

The Palestinian Bureau of Statistics reports the unemployment rate in the fourth quarter of 2006 was 28.4 percent. Given that more than half the Palestinian population is comprised of children, each worker has many dependents - sometimes as many as 10.

"Officially, about 18,000 Palestinians work in Israeli factories and settlements in the West Bank, but I cannot even estimate how many are working illegally, especially in the agricultural sector," Jacub says.

Meanwhile, some 15 workers have gathered around us by the iron door in Tul Karm, whispering and nodding.

Abdelatif Abu Raye, a young man with bright blue eyes, tells me that several months ago, his hand was sliced in two on a cutting machine in the carton factory. After the accident, his employer sent him home and stopped paying his salary. The accident left him partially paralyzed. The Tul Karm hospital could not perform the operation to save his use of his hand, and he cannot reach an Israeli hospital that would help him.

"My employer didn't pay me any indemnification, and because of my injury I can't find work elsewhere. My magnetic card (the permit to work in Israel) was revoked. I talked to a lawyer who started court procedures in Israel, but I cannot even meet him because I'm not allowed to cross the checkpoint," says Abu Raye.

Another worker, Mohammed Abu Harma, was asked five years ago to build a fence around the Rational Systems factory in Nitzanei Hashalom, recalls his son, Majed.

"They used plastic barrels with chemical waste to support the fence. One of these barrels exploded, and my father was injured in the head. He died four days later, leaving my mother with eight children to fend for themselves. We never received any pension or indemnification."

Majed, then 22, had to stop studying to provide for the family. "We have been in court with my father's employer for the last several years, but the judges haven't come to any conclusions yet," he says.

Others tell stories of amputated fingers, injuries and breathing problems deriving from factory work. To hear the men's stories, work accidents due to occupational, safety and health hazards seem to be common practice here.

At exactly 6:30 A.M., the iron door opens and the crowd disappears. The door closes by 7 A.M. and will remain closed for the next nine hours.

It feels strange to enter the park later, from the Israeli side. Here there are no locked iron doors, no long lines of workers, no barrier. At the junction with Highway 6, you turn right and pass a sleepy guard at the entrance gate. The high walls around the complex hide the view of Tul Karm and make it seem you're in Israel.

Gil Letterman, the owner of Rational Systems - a company that makes polyurethane parts for printers and medical equipment - is willing to talk. He invites us to enter his factory. He started his company 25 years ago in Netanya, but when the intifada began, it became increasingly difficult for his Palestinian workers to get to work. Therefore he moved part of his activities - the casting of parts, painting, inspection and packing - to this area.

Rational Systems' plant looks well organized, and workers there wear protective clothing. Letterman insists there are no problems with salaries or safety requirements.

But what about Abu Harma's accident?

Letterman admits he had problems with subcontractors like Abu Harma, but these were solved legally, he says.

"There are Palestinian workers who have been with us since the establishment of the company, and I even employ the second generation, their sons. I know their families, I was at their weddings. These are decent, reliable people who are well paid. You should understand that Palestinians benefit from the Israeli factories here - I bet you they earn more in Nitzanei Hashalom than they would with a Palestinian employer in Tul Karm."

With 50 percent of the Palestinian population living below the poverty line - $2.10 a day, according to international organizations - Letterman might be right, and Palestinians might indeed be glad to be able to work and feed their families. But under what conditions, and for which price?

Salwa Alinat, a representative of Kav La'Oved, started an information and aid program for Palestinian workers employed by Israelis in the West Bank, and has heard even worse stories.

"I talked to date pickers from Jericho employed in an Israeli settlement, and during the harvest in April and May, they had to sit for nine hours in a palm tree in the burning sun, without even a toilet break. And they didn't even get minimum wage.

"A Palestinian woman who cleans settlers' houses endures the guards' harassment at the entry to the settlement. I found factory workers who work long hours with insufficient protection against hazardous circumstances, and receive 10 shekels or less. The worst are the stories about child labor. During the summer, children as young as 12 or 13 work 12-hour shifts. I met a boy of 10 who works in a warehouse in the Jordan Valley during the summer break and after school, because his father is unemployed and his family needs the money," she says.

It is still hard to believe that this almost colonial system is taking place right under our noses, and nobody seems to know. Along with our Palestinian guide Zakaria Sadea, we decide to conduct some field research. Our first stop is at the industrial zone in Karnei Shomron. We count 10 factories there.

Something peculiar occurs in the parking lot of one of the factories. A young Palestinian boy approaches our car and whispers through the half open window, eyes darting restlessly: "I earn 9 shekels per hour here, but I can't prove it because I don't have a pay slip or any other documents."

When an older man walks toward us - later we learned he was the supervisor - he hisses: "Don't tell him anything," and suddenly disappears between the parked cars. But Faleh, the Palestinian supervisor, insists the working conditions are perfect. "Palestinians should be grateful to have a job here. Everybody earns a fair wage. I, for example, get 11,000 shekels a month."

Puzzled by the discrepancy, we leave the plant. Are all these workers just telling stories, or is this an indication of a phenomenon Alinat described: a kind of colonial "divide and rule" system, whereby certain "good" Palestinians get favors - better salaries and conditions - in exchange for information about the conduct of other workers?

We become more confused when we try to figure out which law governs the relation between Israeli companies and Palestinian workers on Palestinian soil. Is it Israeli labor law, martial law, or even Palestinian law?

According to Kav La'Oved lawyer Yuval Livnat, the answer is unclear.

"The industrial parks and the settlements are usually situated in area C, which means they fall under Israeli jurisdiction. You would expect that Israeli labor law also applies, but the labor court decided that Jordanian law is applicable for Palestinian workers, unless this violates the public interest. This decision has multiple interpretations. Moreover the Jordanian law dates back from 1967 - before the Six-Day War - and gives workers very limited rights and protection regarding work hours, safety regulations and vacation. The result is that Palestinian workers suffer legal discrimination compared to their Israeli colleagues at the same workplace, and this is unacceptable."

The Palestinians do seem to have a right to the Israeli minimum wage, under a past Civil Administration order, but this is not enforced.

"I complained to the Civil Administration about falsified pay slips - for instance, the employer declared less days than the worker worked - but they did not follow through."

In a democratic state, the solution seems obvious. Why don't these Palestinians sue their employers in an Israeli labor court? But if they have the courage to do so, they face yet another barrier. They are considered foreign residents in Israel, and as such have to deposit large sums to guarantee payment of court expenses.

Legal chaos, uncertain rights and intimidated workers seem to have transformed the West Bank in a legal "no man's land," where nothing is forbidden. We turn to the Civil Administration for answers.

But the responsible representative for labor cases - Itzhak Levi - is not authorized to give us any information about how many Israeli factories operate in the West Bank and how many workers they employ, and what has been done in the face of complaints. He refers us to capt. Tzidki Maman, who promises a prompt reply. This was on February 18. We have not heard from him since.

The writer is a freelance journalist living in Israel who writes for Belgian, Dutch and British newspapers. This article was originally published in Haaretz and is republished with permission.