GEOFF BENNETT: A Palestinian gunman was shot and killed by Israeli troops in the occupied West Bank today, as tensions there remain high.

Special correspondent Leila Molana-Allen reports now from Nablus with a look at young men who have few hopes and less of a future, but burning anger.

(GUNSHOTS) LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: Another day, another funeral.

The rattle of gunfire has become a common refrain in the streets of Nablus of late, as dozens of young men are gunned down in fierce nighttime raids by the Israel Defense Forces.

The latest raid on Friday morning killed two young militants in the back streets of the old city.

Hours later, armed fighters emerged from underground to send off their fallen comrades.

And looking down from every wall, gate and traffic circle, the faces of the young men who've died before them, the shaheed, or martyrs, as they're called.

The cult of martyrs is very strong here.

This young man is wearing around his neck necklaces with pictures of three fighters recently killed by the IDF that they sell in town.

Over the past year, the conflict in the West Bank has reignited, with the Israeli army staging dozens of fatal raids in response to an uptick in terror attacks.

An epidemic of violence has engulfed Palestinian cities like Nablus and Jenin, with replacement fighters recruited from the ranks of angry young men here as fast as they fall.

The IDF says 130 terror attacks have been carried out in the West Bank so far this year.

It has conducted 1,800 raids on West Bank towns in response, according to the U.N. Childhood is fleeting in this hostile environment.

The morning after the funeral, I meet Adam sitting in the graveyard.

He comes here every day to the grave of his best friend's big brother, Walid, who was killed in an Israeli raid in February.

ADAM ATMEH, 12 Years Old (through translator): I always used to go and see him.

I loved his company.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: These boys are just 12.

But instead of playing in the street, they spend their days in a place haunted by death, mourning the young men in our society they see killed in the most brutal of ways.

Surrounded by such violence, parents here say it's impossible to protect their children from the impact, no matter how young.

Mohammad Annaty's son, Omar, is just five.

MOHAMMAD ANNATY, Nablus Resident (through translator): These kinds of raids happen constantly, and children are watching.

They're also watching them on TV and on social media.

It's hard to hide the martyrs' funerals .

So that's how they get exposed and start wanting to carry a weapon.

And he will grow up wanting something like this pistol.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: Mohammad wishes he could give his son a different life.

MOHAMMAD ANNATY (through translator): Of course, I would like to see my kid growing up to be the best kind of person.

But the reality on the ground doesn't allow that.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: The reality on the ground is one of unimaginable pressures.

Israel's government says these areas are a hotbed of terrorism.

But violence isn't the only disruptive force at work here.

With so little opportunity to make a better life, hope is in short supply.

Young Palestinians feel increasingly frustrated that no one represents them.

Their only form of government, the Palestinian Authority, has been rendered illegitimate by poor leadership, widespread corruption and failure to hold an election for more than a decade.

Its security coordination with the Israelis, often pulling back to allow the IDF to conduct its raids unimpeded, was the final straw.

At a coffee shop just outside the Old City, Amjad Masri and Raheem tell me what it's like for a young man trying to build a life for himself and his family in Nablus.

The economy here is dire, and those who can't hold down a job can barely make ends meet.

AMJAD MASRI, Waiter (through translator): The wages here in the West Bank are very low.

Sometimes, I have to cut down on food.

My income doesn't cover my expenses.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: Their friends often discuss their options, whether to fight or not, how to live a peaceful life under these conditions.

But, in this tinderbox, the choice to pursue work over weapons doesn't guarantee safety.

The IDF it only targets militants, a position that's aided by the fact militant groups like Islamic Jihad regularly claim any young man killed as a fighter.

Ali Al Azzizi escaped a fatal bullet, but many mark his body.

He fought Israel in the Second Intifada, or uprising, 20 years ago.

He spent years in and out of Israeli and Palestinian Authority jails.

After his daughter was born in 2008, he decided to lay down his weapons.

But as the recent raids intensify, a new generation has taken over.

In the past year, a now infamous group of young fighters known as the Arin Al Usud, The Lion's Den, has sprung up in the camp.

ALI AL AZZIZI, Nablus Resident (through translator): It started very simply with very young guys who saved up money to buy weapons.

These weapons are nowhere near the weapons the Israelis carry.

They began resisting and stopping the Israelis from entering the city.

And that's how they gained popularity with the people.

They're very secretive and people don't know much about them.

You only hear them when the Israelis are in town.

And when the Israelis leave, they disappear.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: Ali's younger cousin, Mohammad Al Azzizi, was the founder of the group, quickly becoming Israel's most wanted man.

When he was killed in a raid last July, he became the poster boy for resistance against the IDF's current campaign.

Now marked a terrorist hot spot, the family home has been under constant attack for over a year.

The walls, fridge and furniture are pockmarked with bullet holes, the upper floor blasted by missiles.

The Lion's Den supporters say the group only defends the borders of the city when Israeli soldiers try to enter.

But the IDF accuses its members of multiple preplanned attacks on both soldiers and civilians.

Mohammad's mother, Umm Uday, remembers how her son's behavior started to change early last year.

UMM UDAY, Mother of Mohammad Al Azzizi (through translator): He was going out, getting home late.

I was so worried about him.

Every time I knew he was about to go somewhere or meet someone outside, I would always try to stop him from leaving the house, to convince him not to go.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: Her efforts were in vain.

She saw less and less of Mohammed, until the day he was killed.

Now she must learn to bear his loss.

UMM UDAY (through translator): There's no day that passes that I don't think of him.

LEILA MOLANA-ALLEN: Umm Uday has now lost all three of her sons to the fighting.

Soon after Mohammed was killed, her eldest was arrested by the Palestinian Authority, while his brother ended up in an Israeli jail.

In the place of her child, she has gained the status of a umm shaheed, or martyr's mother, held in reverence by the community and supported both emotionally and financially.

Many parents here fear a similar fate.

As the cycle of violence rolls on, mothers across the West Bank pray the next casualty, the next fighter, the next body will not be that of their son.

For the "PBS NewsHour," I'm Leila Molana-Allen in Nablus, the West Bank.

GEOFF BENNETT: Later this week, Leila Molana-Allen will introduce us to Israelis affected by the violence and uncertainty.