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It was around 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. The wind howled, forcing me inside any longer, so walking was my only option. At first, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but a short distance later the rain intensified abruptly. That wasn’t surprising. I stopped near a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks while I stood there, though he didn’t seem interested. I noticed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Walk Through a Place of Tents

While traversing 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 roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, attempting to avoid the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: What occupies them now? What are they thinking? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I envisioned children nestled under wet blankets, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I walked into my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Darkness Intensifies

As midnight passed, the storm intensified. Outside, tarps on broken panes whipped and strained, while metal sheets broke away and fell with a clatter. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

For the last fortnight, the rain has been incessant. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In other places, this might be called “bad weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Palestinians know 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 shows its true power. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has no such defenses. The cold bites through homes, streets are deserted and people simply endure.

But the peril of the season is now very real. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts retrieved the remains 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. These structural failures are not the result of fresh strikes, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, never fully drying. Each step reminded me how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for a vast population living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

A great number of these residents have already been displaced, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has come to Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come without proper shelter, without electricity, devoid of warmth.

The Weight on Education

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not figures in a report; they are faces I recognize; intelligent, determined, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already lost family members. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they continue their education. Their perseverance is astounding, but it ought not be necessary in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—become ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ safety, warmth and proximity to protection.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Is there heat? 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 mostly absent and fuel scarce, warmth comes primarily through wearing multiple layers and using the few bedding items available. Even so, cold nights are excruciating. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Agencies state that well over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including insulated tents, have been inadequate. During the recent storm, relief groups reported delivering tarpaulins, tents and bedding to thousands of families. On the ground, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are on the upswing.

This goes beyond an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza understand this failure not as bad luck, but as neglect. People speak of how critical supplies are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to make do, to hand out tarps, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

A Symbolic Season

The aspect that renders this pain especially painful is how unnecessary it should be. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or combat disease standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how fragile life has become. It strains physiques worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

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