This is the season of renewal.

One year ends. Another begins.

At the turn of the calendar, it is customary for columnists like me to make predictions about what may or may not be in the offing or, alternatively, to offer dispirited readers reasons for hope amid all the hurt and heartache.

I have to admit that, as a writer, I have always been loath to engage in either chore. The first strikes me as a meaningless endeavour since playing soothsayer is a foolish act of hubris. The second is even more troublesome, particularly when the ever-elusive “silver lining” appears so far beyond reach that it has disappeared into irrelevance.

This year, like the last, will be remembered for having to watch – bereft and helpless – as Palestinians continue to be casualties of a genocide engineered by an apartheid regime seized with an insatiable killing lust and enabled by hypocrites who insist they are steadfast apostles of human rights and international law.

Day after awful day Palestinians have suffered the cruel consequences of this wretched ruse. The number of dead and injured Palestinians defies belief. The manner of their deaths defies belief, too.

Day after awful day, imprisoned Palestinians on their own fractured land confront two fates: They will die sudden and violent deaths – victims of Israeli drones, bombs, and snipers. Or they will die slow and agonising deaths – victims of starvation, disease, and the cold and rain.

Hope, in this inhumane context, is a cockeyed fantasy. Or so I thought.

Then, I came upon a Christmas sermon delivered by the Palestinian Christian pastor and theologian,........

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