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The time was about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, forcing me inside any longer, so I had to walk. Initially, it was only a light drizzle, but after about 200 metres the rain suddenly grew heavier. It came as no shock. I stopped near a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling sweet treats. We spoke briefly as I waited, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Walk Through a City of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, only the sound of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My mind continually drifted to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What thoughts fill their minds? How do they feel? A severe chill gripped the air. I imagined children nestled under wet blankets, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Escalates

During the darkest hours, the storm grew stronger. Outside, plastic sheeting on damaged glass whipped and strained, while tin roofing broke away and slammed down. Above it all came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

For the last fortnight, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned bare earth into mud. In other places, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Typically, 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 no longer abstract. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts retrieved the remains of two children after the roof of a bombarded structure collapsed in northern Gaza, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. These incidents are not new attacks, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, an infant in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Flimsy tarpaulins sagged under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, always damp. Each step highlighted how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for countless individuals living in tents and cramped refuges.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many on multiple occasions. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, with no power, devoid of warmth.

Students in the Storm

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not mere statistics; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but profoundly exhausted. Most attend online classes from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have lost their homes. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it ought not be necessary in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—turn into ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Do they have dryness? Do they feel any warmth? Has the gale ripped through their shelter during the night? For those remaining in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity mostly absent and fuel rare, warmth comes primarily through wearing multiple layers and using the few bedding items available. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Figures show that more than a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Aid supplies, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. During the recent storm, aid organizations reported providing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to a multitude of people. For those affected, however, this assistance was widely experienced as inconsistent and lacking, limited to temporary solutions that were largely ineffective against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This cannot be described as an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how critical supplies are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are consistently hampered. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they continue to be hampered by bureaucratic barriers. The failure is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are withheld.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or combat disease standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how precarious existence is. It challenges health worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

This winter occurs alongside the Christmas season that, for millions, represents warmth, refuge and care for the disadvantaged. In Palestine, that {symbolism