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The time was about 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I returned home in Gaza City. The wind howled, making it impossible to remain any longer, so walking was my only option. At first, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but a short distance later the rain became a downpour. It came as no shock. I paused beside a tent, clapping my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy was sitting outside selling homemade cookies. We shared brief remarks while I stood there, but his attention was elsewhere. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Trek Through a City 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, just the noise of rain pouring down and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, trying to dodge the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My thoughts kept returning to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What thoughts fill their minds? What are they experiencing? A severe chill gripped the air. I envisioned children curled under soaked bedding, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these severe cold season. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Intensifies

During the darkest hours, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on damaged glass sagged and flapped violently, while tin roofing tore loose and fell with a clatter. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, piercing the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

During recent days, the rain has been unending. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. In other places, this might be called “bad weather”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of 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, beginning in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Typically, it is faced with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.

But the danger of winter is far from theoretical. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, civil defense teams retrieved the remains 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. These incidents are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. In recent days, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Flimsy tarpaulins sagged under the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come without proper shelter, with no power, lacking heat.

A Teacher's Anguish

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; smart, persistent, but extremely fatigued. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from cramped quarters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they still try to study. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—transform into questions of conscience, shaped each day by uncertainty about students’ security, heat and proximity to protection.

During nights like these, I cannot help but wonder about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Has the gale ripped through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel scarce, warmth comes mostly via bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Aid supplies, including weatherproof shelters, have been far from enough. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was widely experienced as uneven and inadequate, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are on the upswing.

This is not an unexpected catastrophe. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza understand this failure not as bad luck, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to make do, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by what is allowed to enter. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are kept out.

A Preventable Suffering

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. No one should have to study, raise children, or combat disease standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how fragile life has become. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

The current cold season coincides with the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism