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The time was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back home in Gaza City. The wind howled, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. Initially, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but following a brief walk the rain suddenly grew heavier. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy sat nearby selling sweet treats. We shared brief remarks as I waited, although he appeared disengaged. I observed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Journey Through a City of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, merely the din of rain pouring down and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, seeking escape from the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What are they thinking? What are they experiencing? A severe chill gripped the air. I pictured children nestled under soaked bedding, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a understated yet stark reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these severe cold season. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Darkness Worsens

In the middle of the night, the storm reached its peak. Outside, tarps on broken panes sagged and flapped violently, while metal sheets broke away and fell with a clatter. Cutting through the chaos came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

For the last fortnight, the rain has been relentless. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, beginning in late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are deserted and people merely survive.

But the threat posed by the cold is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the consequence of homes weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for countless individuals living in tents and cramped refuges.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, in darkness, without heating.

Students in the Storm

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not figures in a report; they are individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but profoundly exhausted. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity unreliable. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they persist in learning. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—become moral negotiations, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ well-being, comfort and proximity to protection.

When the storm rages, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Did the wind tear through their shelter during the night? For those residing in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is a lack of heat. With electricity scarce and fuel rare, warmth comes mostly via donning extra clothing and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Figures show that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Aid supplies, including thermal blankets, have been far from enough. Amid the last tempest, relief groups reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to thousands of families. In reality, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures that did little against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how critical supplies are hindered or postponed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to improvise, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

A Symbolic Season

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing is how avoidable it could have been. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain lays bare just how precarious existence is. It strains physiques worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

This winter coincides with the Christmas season that, for millions, represents warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism