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The clock read about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I returned home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. At first, it was merely a soft rain, but after about 200 metres the rain suddenly grew heavier. That wasn’t surprising. I paused beside a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy sat nearby selling homemade cookies. We exchanged a few words during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Trek Through a Landscape of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, merely the din of falling water and the roar of the wind. As I hurried on, trying to dodge 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 are they thinking? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I pictured children huddled under soaked bedding, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I entered my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Darkness Intensifies

As midnight passed, the storm reached its peak. Outside, plastic sheeting on shattered windows whipped and strained, while metal sheets broke away and crashed to the ground. Overriding the noise came the piercing, fearful cries of children, piercing the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

During recent days, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, inundated temporary settlements and turned bare earth into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty 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 shows its true power. Normally, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The cold bites 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 recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a bombarded structure 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 compromised after months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Flimsy tarpaulins buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many on multiple occasions. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, with no power, devoid of warmth.

Students in the Storm

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not mere statistics; they are faces I recognize; intelligent, determined, but profoundly exhausted. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from cramped quarters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity sporadic. Countless learners have already suffered personal loss. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they persist in learning. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—transform into moral negotiations, influenced daily by anxiety over students’ security, heat and ability to find refuge.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Do they have dryness? Is there heat? Has the gale ripped through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or damaged structures, there is no heating. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel in short supply, warmth comes primarily through bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Despite this, cold nights are intolerable. What about those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, relief groups reported providing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to numerous households. For those affected, 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. Shelters fail. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are rising.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza understand this failure not as bad luck, but as being forsaken. People speak of how critical supplies are hindered or postponed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to find solutions, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The failure is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

A Symbolic Season

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness 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 exposes just how fragile life has become. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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