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The clock read around 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, making it impossible to remain any longer, leaving me to walk. In the beginning, it was merely a soft rain, but a short distance later the rain became a downpour. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling sweet treats. We shared brief remarks during my pause, though he didn’t seem interested. I noticed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d manage to sell them all before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Walk Through a City of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the roar of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What are they thinking? How do they feel? The cold was piercing. I imagined children curled under soaked bedding, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a understated yet stark reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Worsens

In the middle of the night, the storm grew stronger. Outside, plastic sheeting on shattered windows sagged and flapped violently, while tin roofing ripped free and crashed to the ground. Overriding the noise came the piercing, fearful cries of children, shattering the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned open ground into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Normally, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has no such defenses. The cold bites through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.

But the peril of the season is no longer abstract. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, recovery efforts found the victims 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 have not been found. Such collapses are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, a young child in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Observing the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, always damp. Each step reminded me how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for a vast population living in tents and cramped refuges.

The majority of these individuals have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. 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, lacking heat.

The Weight on Education

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not distant names; they are individuals I know; bright, resilient, but extremely fatigued. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—projects, due dates—turn into ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and access to shelter.

On evenings such as this, I find myself thinking about them. Is their shelter holding? Do they feel any warmth? Has the gale ripped through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those residing in apartments, or damaged structures, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity scarce and fuel in short supply, warmth comes primarily through donning extra clothing and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are intolerable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Agencies state that more than a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Relief items, including insulated tents, have been insufficient. During the recent storm, relief groups reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was often perceived as inconsistent and lacking, limited to temporary solutions that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are rising.

This is not an surprise calamity. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza understand this failure not as bad luck, but as neglect. People speak of how critical supplies are hindered or postponed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they continue to be hampered by bureaucratic barriers. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are prevented from arriving.

A Symbolic Season

What makes this suffering especially heartbreaking is how avoidable it could have been. No one should have to study, raise children, or combat disease standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain exposes just how vulnerable survival is. It tests bodies worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

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