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The time was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I returned home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, so I had to walk. In the beginning, it was merely a soft rain, but after about 200 metres the rain became a downpour. That wasn’t surprising. I stopped near a tent, clapping my hands to generate a little heat. A young boy was sitting outside selling baked goods. We spoke briefly as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Journey Through a Landscape of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, just the noise of rain pouring down and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, trying to dodge the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: What occupies them now? What thoughts fill their minds? What are they experiencing? The cold was piercing. I envisioned children curled under soaked bedding, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Night Escalates

As midnight passed, the storm grew stronger. Outside, makeshift covers on broken panes sagged and flapped violently, while corrugated metal tore loose and crashed to the ground. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “bad weather”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty days of winter, beginning in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has no such defenses. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are deserted and people merely survive.

But the peril of the season is now very real. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, civil defense teams retrieved the remains of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, an infant in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Flimsy tarpaulins strained 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 came to claiming life and health for countless individuals living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

A great number of these residents have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, without heating.

A Teacher's Anguish

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; smart, persistent, but extremely fatigued. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from cramped quarters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity intermittent. Many of my students have already experienced bereavement. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—transform into questions of conscience, dictated every moment by concern for students’ security, heat and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I cannot help but wonder 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 remaining in apartments, or what remains of them, there is no heating. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel scarce, warmth comes mostly via bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Figures show that well over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including insulated tents, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported distributing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be patchy and insufficient, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are rising.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to improvise, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they continue to be hampered by restrictions on imports. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are kept out.

A Preventable Suffering

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. No one should have to study, raise children, or battle sickness 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 reveals just how fragile life has become. It strains physiques worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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