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It was about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but a short distance later the rain became a downpour. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly while I stood there, but his attention was elsewhere. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d manage to sell them all before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Journey Through a Landscape of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, only the sound of torrential rain and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What occupies them now? What thoughts fill their minds? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I pictured children huddled under soaked bedding, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a understated yet stark reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I stepped inside my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Escalates

In the middle of the night, the storm reached its peak. Outside, tarps on broken panes sagged and flapped violently, while tin roofing ripped free and fell with a clatter. Overriding the noise came the sharp, panicked screams of children, shattering the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, 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.

Al-Arba’iniya

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty days of winter, beginning in late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Ordinarily, it is endured with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people just persevere.

But the threat posed by the cold is far from theoretical. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies 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 are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not new attacks, but the outcome of homes weakened by months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. In recent days, an infant in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes were perpetually moist, never fully drying. Each step reminded me how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for countless individuals living in tents and cramped refuges.

The majority of these individuals have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has come to Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, in darkness, without heating.

A Teacher's Anguish

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not figures in a report; they are individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but deeply weary. Most attend online classes from tents; others from packed rooms where privacy is impossible and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by anxiety over students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

When the storm rages, I cannot help but wonder about them. Is their shelter holding? Are they warm? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is no heating. With electricity scarce and fuel rare, warmth comes mainly from wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that more than a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. Amid the last tempest, aid organizations reported providing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to thousands of families. For those affected, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures that did little against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are on the upswing.

This goes beyond an unexpected catastrophe. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as bad luck, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to make do, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they are still constrained by what is allowed to enter. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

An Unnecessary Pain

What makes this suffering especially painful is how preventable it is. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing knee-high 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 precarious existence is. It tests bodies worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

This year's chill coincides with the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism