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The time was around 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back 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 after about 200 metres the rain became a downpour. It came as no shock. I paused beside a tent, rubbing my palms together to fight off the chill. A young boy had positioned himself selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly while I stood there, though he didn’t seem interested. I observed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d manage to sell them all before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Walk Through a Landscape of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of falling water and the roar of the wind. Rushing forward, trying to dodge the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My mind continually drifted to those taking refuge within: How are they passing the time now? What thoughts fill their minds? How do they feel? A severe chill gripped the air. I imagined children huddled under soaked bedding, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a understated yet stark reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these severe cold season. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Night Escalates

In the middle of the night, the storm reached its peak. Outside, tarps on shattered windows whipped and strained, while tin roofing tore loose and slammed down. Cutting through the chaos came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has soaked tents, flooded makeshift camps and turned open ground into mud. In other places, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe 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 reveals its full force. Normally, it is faced with preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are empty and people just persevere.

But the threat posed by the cold is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, civil defense teams retrieved the remains of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the consequence of homes weakened by months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Not long ago, an infant in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Inadequate coverings sagged under the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted 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.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, without heating.

A Teacher's Anguish

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not mere statistics; they are individuals I know; smart, persistent, but extremely fatigued. Most attend online classes from tents; others from cramped quarters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity unreliable. Countless learners have already experienced bereavement. Most have lost their homes. Yet they still try to study. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ security, heat and ability to find refuge.

During nights like these, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Are they dry? Do they feel any warmth? Has the gale ripped through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those remaining in apartments, or what remains of them, there is a lack of heat. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from donning extra clothing and using whatever blankets are left. Even so, cold nights are intolerable. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that more than a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including insulated tents, have been insufficient. During the recent storm, aid organizations reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to thousands of families. On the ground, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to short-term fixes that offered scant protection against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are increasing.

This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza understand this failure not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are blocked or slowed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are consistently hampered. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they remain limited by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are withheld.

An Unnecessary Pain

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing 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 ruining their last notebook. Rain lays bare just how vulnerable survival is. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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