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The clock read about 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back home in Gaza City. The wind howled, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, so walking was my only option. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but a short distance later the rain intensified abruptly. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We spoke briefly as I waited, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Trek Through a Landscape 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, only the sound of torrential rain and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. I couldn't stop thinking to those sheltering inside: What occupies them now? What are they thinking? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I imagined children nestled under soaked bedding, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I walked into my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Intensifies

As midnight passed, the storm reached its peak. Outside, plastic sheeting on shattered windows sagged and flapped violently, while corrugated metal tore loose and slammed down. Above it all came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been incessant. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Typically, it is endured with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are vacant and people simply endure.

But the threat posed by the cold is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not new attacks, but the outcome of homes weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Thin plastic sheets sagged under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, never fully drying. Each step reinforced how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and cramped refuges.

Most of these people have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, in darkness, lacking heat.

A Teacher's Anguish

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not mere statistics; they are individuals I know; bright, resilient, but profoundly exhausted. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from packed rooms where solitude is unattainable and connectivity sporadic. Countless learners have already suffered personal loss. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—turn into ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by concern for students’ security, heat and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Do they have dryness? Do they feel any warmth? Did the wind tear through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is a lack of heat. With electricity scarce and fuel scarce, warmth comes primarily through wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Despite this, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Relief items, including thermal blankets, have been far from enough. During the recent storm, aid organizations reported providing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be patchy and insufficient, limited to temporary solutions that were largely ineffective against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are increasing.

This goes beyond an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as fate, but as being forsaken. People speak of how critical supplies are blocked or slowed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to improvise, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The failure is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

A Symbolic Season

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing is how preventable it is. No one should have to study, raise children, or combat disease standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain lays bare just how vulnerable survival is. It challenges health worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

This year's chill aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, represents warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism