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The clock read about 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I returned home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, 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 intensified abruptly. It came as no shock. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling homemade cookies. We shared brief remarks as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. I observed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Journey Through a City of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, only the sound of rain pouring down and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I imagined children nestled under soaked bedding, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I walked into my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of having a roof when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Night Intensifies

In the middle of the night, the storm intensified. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows sagged and flapped violently, while metal sheets broke away and fell with a clatter. Overriding the noise came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, commencing in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Normally, it is endured with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are vacant and people merely survive.

But the peril of the season is no longer abstract. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations found the victims of two children after the roof of a bombarded structure collapsed in northern Gaza, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. These structural failures are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Walking past the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Thin plastic sheets strained under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, never fully drying. Each step highlighted how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been uprooted, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, lacking heat.

A Teacher's Anguish

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but deeply weary. 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 lost family members. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—projects, due dates—transform into questions of conscience, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and proximity to protection.

When the storm rages, I cannot help but wonder about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Did the wind tear through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those still living in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mainly from wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that well over a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported delivering coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. In reality, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be uneven and inadequate, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza view this crisis not as bad luck, but as neglect. People speak of how essential materials are blocked or slowed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to find solutions, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The failure is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are withheld.

An Unnecessary Pain

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing is how preventable it is. It is unconscionable 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 anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

The current cold season aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, symbolises warmth, refuge and care for the most vulnerable. In Palestine, that {symbolism