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The time was about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, making it impossible to remain any longer, so walking was my only option. At first, it was only a light drizzle, but after about 200 metres the rain intensified abruptly. That wasn’t surprising. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to fight off the chill. A young boy was sitting outside selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly during my pause, though he didn’t seem interested. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Walk Through a Place of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, merely the din of torrential rain and the moan of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My thoughts kept returning to those huddled within: What occupies them now? What is their state of mind? How do they feel? A severe chill gripped the air. I envisioned children nestled under damp covers, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these severe cold season. I stepped inside my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of having a roof when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Night Worsens

During the darkest hours, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on damaged glass billowed and tore, while metal sheets broke away and slammed down. Cutting through the chaos came the piercing, fearful cries of children, shattering the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, swamped refugee areas and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

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 reveals its full force. Normally, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are vacant and people simply endure.

But the danger of winter is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, civil defense teams found the victims of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. These incidents are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the result of homes weakened by months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Earlier this month, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Thin plastic sheets sagged under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, incapable of drying. Each step reinforced how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for countless individuals living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

The majority of these individuals have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has come to Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, without electricity, devoid of warmth.

The Weight on Education

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not figures in a report; they are individuals I know; bright, resilient, but extremely fatigued. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from packed rooms where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. Countless learners have already experienced bereavement. Most have lost their homes. Yet they continue their education. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—projects, due dates—transform into moral negotiations, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ safety, warmth and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Do they feel any warmth? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is no heating. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via wearing multiple layers and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are intolerable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that more than a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. During the recent storm, aid organizations reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to thousands of families. On the ground, however, this assistance was widely experienced as uneven and inadequate, limited to band-aid measures that offered scant protection against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are increasing.

This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how essential materials are hindered or postponed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to make do, to hand out tarps, yet they remain limited by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

A Preventable Suffering

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking 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 destroying their final textbook. Rain exposes just how fragile life has become. It challenges health worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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