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The clock read approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, so I had to walk. In the beginning, it was merely a soft rain, but a short distance later the rain became a downpour. This was expected. I stopped near a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling sweet treats. We spoke briefly during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I noticed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Trek Through a City of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My thoughts kept returning to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I pictured children nestled under damp covers, 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 harsh winter conditions. I stepped inside my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Darkness Worsens

As midnight passed, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on shattered windows billowed and tore, while corrugated metal tore loose and crashed to the ground. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, shattering the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

During recent days, the rain has been unending. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In other places, this might be called “poor conditions”. 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 persisting to the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Typically, it is endured with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has neither. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are vacant and people merely survive.

But the threat posed by the cold is far from theoretical. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies 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 have not been found. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. In recent days, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Inadequate coverings sagged under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, never fully drying. Each step reminded me how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come without proper shelter, in darkness, without heating.

A Teacher's Anguish

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not mere statistics; they are individuals I know; bright, resilient, 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 seen their houses destroyed. Yet they persist in learning. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Do they have dryness? Do they feel any warmth? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those still living in apartments, or what remains of them, there is a lack of heat. With electricity scarce and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mainly from bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Despite this, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been insufficient. During the recent storm, humanitarian partners reported distributing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to temporary solutions that did little against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are rising.

This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are hindered or postponed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are consistently hampered. Local initiatives have tried to improvise, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they are still constrained by bureaucratic barriers. The failure is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

A Preventable Suffering

What makes this suffering especially heartbreaking is how avoidable it could have been. No individual ought to study, raise children, or combat disease standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain reveals just how vulnerable survival is. It tests bodies worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

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