For the past two months and more, 7,500 olive saplings ready for planting have lain scattered about the village of Qafin, in the northwest area of the West Bank. Al Ahali, an association from Nazareth, donated the trees as part of an effort to help Palestinian farmers who have been adversely affected by the separation fence. The saplings are growing, their roots have begun to stretch their tight nylon wrapping, and the budding leaves have begun to go dry, but the unlucky villagers cannot plant them. We went there to find out why.

Most of the village's farmland - 5,000 of the 8,200 dunams (1,250 of 2,050 acres) - is on the opposite side of the separation fence from their homes. According to the calculation of Tawfiq Harsha, the head of the local council, about 100,000 trees, mostly olive, are still growing in this area, after 12,600 were uprooted during the building of the fence. On the land between the groves people grew wheat, tobacco, watermelons and okra - crops that require daily care.

While the fence was still being built, the defense establishment promised the farmers they would have regular access to their land through a special gate. In response to the farmers' concerns, Gil Limon, from the office of the Israel Defense Forces' legal adviser in the West Bank, wrote, on September 23, 2003, to attorney Fathi Shbeita of the Israeli town of Tira: "The problem described in your letter, regarding the absence of an agricultural gate in the area of Qafin village, is being dealt with by the Civil Administration with the intention of defining the appropriate gate through which the residents will be able to reach their lands."

On October 12, 2003, about two months before the completion of the gate in the area, Danilo Darman, also from the legal adviser's office, informed Shbeita that "a suitable place has been found for a separate agricultural gate for the residents of Qafin and the work in this matter is in an advanced stage. I am hereby updating you that the entry permits for the residents of Qafin are ready at the District Coordination and Liaison office [DCL], Tul Karm, and all your clients and their neighbors have to do, is go to the DCL and get the permits."

Really?

Very distant relations

The requests are filled out at the town hall, from where they are sent to the Palestinian DCL in Tul Karm, which forwards them to the Israeli DCL (a unit of the Civil Administration), which approves or rejects them. Qafin has a population of 9,000. Six-hundred families - between 3,000 and 3,600 people - have land and trees on the other side of the fence. In May of this year, 1,050 villagers applied for permits to access their land. Only 70 were granted them, 600 got a negative reply and the rest, 380 people, received no reply at all. One of the common reasons for rejections is a "distant relation" status - that is, the applicant is too distant a relation to the landowner, a situation that supposedly does not justify a permit.

In this way, the requests of two of the three sons of Abd al-Rahim Kataneh, a 61-year-old farmer who has 80 dunams (20 acres) of land (which are registered in his name), were rejected because they are "distant relations." The third son did not even get a reply. Sharif Kataneh, 70, who asked for a permit for him and his wife to work on lands registered in the name of his father and his father-in-law, received a partial permit: He can enter, but his wife was turned down because she is a "distant relation."

After the request of Ribhe Amarneh, 48, and his brother to work land that is registered in their uncle's name was also rejected because of a "distant relation" status, Amarneh submitted a request through the village of Akkabe, whose residents are descended from Qafin families, and received the permit. Now he can at last check the damage done to his trees, he said. A fire erupted in his olive grove in mid-May. He stood behind the fence, a 10-minute walk from the grove, and could do nothing. The Palestinian firefighters did not get there in time either, because coordination with the army is needed to cross the fence, but the fire did not take that into account.

Amarneh's entry permit is via Gate 5. Tawfiq Taami, also from Qafin, has a permit to enter via Gate 12, which is close to the village and the closest to most of the farmlands. However, it is defined not as an "agricultural gate," but as a "military gate." True, in the season of the olive harvest, the army allowed people through the gate, but even then it was opened only three times a day for a few minutes and then shut.

Seven of us - five Palestinian farmers and two Israelis - waited behind the barbed-wire fence until a Jeep arrived from which a redheaded soldier emerged who did not conceal his surprise at seeing us there.

"There is no entry from here," he said. "This is only for the olive harvesting season."

"But the Civil Administration permits say Gate 12," we insisted.

"What is 12?" the soldier said, perplexed. "All I know is that this is Gate 346."

Following several clarifications on the wireless, he was persuaded that Gates 346 and 12 are synonymous, but that did not change his mind.

"There is no entry to Israel from here," he said.

"They don't want to enter Israel, they want to enter their land," we explained.

"To be politically correct, it is all Israel," he replied. After consulting some more on the wireless, the soldier announced that the Haaretz correspondent and photographer were permitted to cross - but not the Qafin residents whose land is on the other side of the gate.

"This is a DCL permit," the soldier explained. "The army is not obliged to work according to it."

He sent us to Gate 1, the old Bartaa gate, which lies three kilometers to the north. The villagers listened to this exchange with astonishment. That gate, which is adjacent to an armored observation site, is usually closed. It is opened only in ultra-special cases, after various forms of coordination, and not for agricultural purposes - but they agreed to try. After making our way three kilometers on a battered rural road, we reached Gate 1, which was closed. We continued to Gate 5, which is located at the Reihan terminal, a vast structure offering free passage for settlers' vehicles and carefully monitored foot passage for residents of the villages west of the fence.

Reihan terminal is 12 kilometers from Qafin and it is not served by public transportation. Those without a car - namely, most of the village residents - must order a taxi and pay NIS 30. No taxis can pass through the terminal, and mules are also barred. To remove all doubt, a sign next to the pedestrians' gate states: "No passage of goods, electrical appliances, animals, clothes, vehicle parts, etc."

Mohammed Sabah, a 60-year-old farmer who didn't even bother submitting a request for a permit and accompanied us in order to demonstrate that it is pointless to apply, said, "So how are we going to get 7,500 saplings in?"

At 1 P.M. dozens of people crowded around the gate under a blazing sun. Every few minutes the soldiers opened the gate, for two people at a time, who were checked at an electromagnetic gate. In between, they left the gate closed, sometimes for up to five minutes, with the result that it was 2:20 before we succeeded in entering. From there it is prohibited to continue on foot, only by car. A few car owners from Bartaa are making a living from this ban. Now, without implements and without saplings, we paid NIS 3 each and got into one of the cars that drove about two kilometers to the south, back to the closed Gate 1.

We got out next to the armored observation tower, from which a disembodied Hebrew voice called, "Hey, hey, where to?" The head of a soldier peeked out from the high opening. "We are from Haaretz and these are farmers who are going to their land." He undoubtedly called his mother unit and then got back to us: "So why not in a car?" he shouted from on high. "Because that is forbidden," we replied. "Do you know them all?" he asked. It was clear from his questions that he had never encountered a farmer who had come to work his land, and he had not been briefed by his commanding officer about the nature of the place.

From there we proceeded on foot. Hilly terrain, with green slopes and rises, lies across the road that leads to Bartaa. We walked between the trees, the rocks and the valleys. It was about two kilometers to Amarneh's scorched grove. It is about four kilometers to Taami's land. Amarneh decided to continue; Taami had had enough. If he had gone on to his land, his day would have looked like this: 24 kilometers from Qafin to the Reihan terminal and back, at a cost of NIS 60; an hour's wait at the terminal; four kilometers and NIS 6 for the round trip between Reihan and Gate 1; and another eight kilometers on foot back and forth. By the time he reached his land, he would have had to return. In any case, without implements or saplings he could have done no more than tear off a few dried leaves and loosen the soil with his hands.

"It's an outing, no more," Taami summed up. "A whole day just to cry next to our neglected soil and return, and pay NIS 66 which nobody has."

The IDF Spokesperson's Office said in response that in the days ahead representatives of the IDF and the Civil Administration will visit the place in order to find a solution to the problems raised in this article.