Young Harel-David Rosenthal squirmed and screeched in his grandfather's arms as if he knew what was coming. The rabbi's practiced hands moved quickly and efficiently, and more than 100 relatives and well-wishers quietly whispered Hebrew prayers to comfort the infant and mute his outraged screams.

It was a bris -- the circumcision of a newborn boy, whose parents are among the 23 families staking a claim here.

For the residents of this unauthorized Jewish "outpost" deep in the occupied West Bank, every addition is an extra foothold on land they have every intention of keeping, regardless of shifting political winds or the stark fact that they're heavily outnumbered by the surrounding Palestinians.

"We have a demographic problem, we know. We're trying to have as many children as possible," said Michal Admoni, 30, the mother of five. "You answer a demographic problem with a demographic solution."

But a more immediate threat looms. Settlers fear that a showdown with the Israeli government is approaching as they face growing dissension in their ranks over strategy and a public image problem.

Three years after Israel dismantled its settlements in the Gaza Strip, these are nervous times for the estimated 250,000 Jewish settlers still living on land captured by Israel in 1967.

Many Israeli politicians, including outgoing Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, are calling for the return of most of the West Bank -- known to Israelis as Judea and Samaria -- in exchange for keeping several large settlement blocks around Jerusalem.

Some settlers believe their vision of Eretz Israel, a Jewish state that engulfs all of the West Bank, hangs in the balance in the election in February of a new prime minister. A victory by Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni over right-wing opposition leader Benjamin Netanyahu would be regarded by many settlers as a step toward surrender.

"I think people are worried. They're not sure what's going to happen," said Tamar Yonah, a journalist and resident of the Kochav Yaakov settlement east of Jerusalem. "The government right now, in order to give away land, has to demonize us."

That tension is partially reflected in a series of recent clashes between Israeli troops and a new generation of activist settlers. These so-called hilltop youths are aggressively claiming new territory and operating in defiance of the government and mainstream settler leadership. Their emergence has fueled confrontations with Palestinian villagers and Israeli security forces.

The latest trouble spot is the city of Hebron, where hundreds of settlers have been ordered to vacate a building they've occupied since last year. Israel deployed 300 riot police officers to the city Wednesday as dozens of young settlers threw rocks and debris at soldiers and Palestinians. At least 15 were taken into custody.

Several times in the last week, young settlers have smashed windows in Arab storefronts, slashed the tires of Israeli army vehicles and spray-painted graffiti in a Muslim cemetery.

The level of hostility has shocked even longtime settlers who share the hilltop youths' ideological goals of Jewish expansion in the West Bank.

"Is Jewish violence in the territories directed either against Arabs or Israeli soldiers increasing? Yes," said Yisrael Medad, a native of New York City who has lived in the Shiloh settlement since 1981. "I cannot condone violence, and I don't like, personally speaking, to see kids throwing stones or cursing out soldiers."

Israel publicly regards the approximately 100 outposts as unauthorized; 126 other West Bank settlements are formally authorized, though most of the international community regards all West Bank settlements as illegal. Under commitments made last year at a U.S.-sponsored peace conference, Israel pledged to dismantle dozens of outposts. But little has been accomplished.

Among the settlers, opinions on the hilltop youths vary.

"They're young people that we're proud of," said David Haivri, an official with the Samaria Regional Council, one of three internal districts governing West Bank settlers. "They're true believers in our faith."

But some regard them as a public relations nightmare that threatens to turn people against the entire movement.

"If they weren't making so much noise, we'd be able to do a lot more, building, expanding, etc.," said Medad, who dismisses the movement as "maybe 200 to 300 kids who are poorly educated and looking for action."

The most worrisome dynamic, Medad said, is that this new fringe has begun to openly defy the Yesha Council, the umbrella body that governs all settlers and negotiates with the government on their behalf.

Several settlers pointed to a pair of shocking events that set the stage for the emergence of this militant movement: the September 2005 withdrawal from Gaza and forced removal of the settlers there, and the February 2006 battle between soldiers and settlers over an outpost named Amona.

The Gaza withdrawal is still regarded as a betrayal -- all the more painful because it was spearheaded by former Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, who helped build many of the settlements. Many settlers lost faith in the government, in the Yesha Council for not fighting hard enough and in the Israeli public for not rallying to their defense.

"They didn't fight for us in Gaza," Admoni, the mother of five, said. "No one cares. People are selfish."

Then came Amona: What started as an army push to remove several outpost buildings devolved into a brawl that left nearly 200 people injured. The incident scarred both sides, and even critics of the settlements were shocked by images of Jews being bloodied by Jewish soldiers. Much of the government's reluctance to confront activist settlers stems from a desire to avoid another Amona.

"Nothing underscores the government's weakness and its capitulation to the settlers more than the continued existence of the illegal outposts," wrote Aluf Benn, a venerable diplomatic correspondent for the daily newspaper Haaretz.

One of the unspoken fears fueling that impotence, Benn wrote, is that Israeli forces in the West Bank are increasingly filled with settlers and their supporters. A serious push against the settlements or outposts could trigger a divisive loyalty test that would split both the army and society.

The result is a confused dynamic between the army and many of the outpost residents. In Chavat Yaer, or Yaer's Farm, an Israeli soldier helps patrol the area and stays in his own trailer provided by the residents. But there are also occasional, seemingly random, crackdowns. Last year, one of the residents installed a swimming pool behind his trailer. The army came in and destroyed it.

While many settlers are nervously tracking the preelection season, others see opportunity in the current political vacuum.

"Before the election is the best time to expand," said Yitz- hak Lasser, the unofficial leader of Chavat Yaer, which has tripled in size in five years. "The government can't do anything."

Does that mean he's working to bring in more caravans within the next three months?

Lasser, who said there were 10 families waiting to move in after the trailers are in place, merely smiled and said, "With the help of God."