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The clock read around 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, making it impossible to remain any longer, leaving me to walk. Initially, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but a short distance later the rain became a downpour. That wasn’t surprising. I paused beside a tent, clapping my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy had positioned himself selling sweet treats. We spoke briefly as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. I observed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, dampened 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

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, only the sound of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, trying to dodge the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to light my way. I couldn't stop thinking to those huddled within: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? It was bitterly cold. I envisioned children nestled under damp covers, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a understated yet stark reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Worsens

As midnight passed, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on broken panes billowed and tore, while metal sheets tore loose and slammed down. Above it all came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, shattering the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has soaked tents, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people simply endure.

But the threat posed by the cold is now very real. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, civil defense teams retrieved the remains 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. These structural failures are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the consequence of homes weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, a young child in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Flimsy tarpaulins strained under the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step reminded me how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for countless individuals living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

The majority of these individuals have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has come to Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come without proper shelter, 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 faces I recognize; smart, persistent, but deeply weary. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they continue their education. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—projects, due dates—become ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

During nights like these, I cannot help but wonder about them. Do they have dryness? Is there heat? Did the wind tear through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those still living in apartments, or damaged structures, there is a lack of heat. With electricity mostly absent and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mainly from bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Despite this, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including thermal blankets, have been far from enough. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. In reality, however, this assistance was often perceived as uneven and inadequate, limited to band-aid measures that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are on the upswing.

This goes beyond an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as bad luck, but as abandonment. People speak of how critical supplies are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they remain limited by what is allowed to enter. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are withheld.

A Symbolic Season

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain reveals just how precarious existence is. It tests bodies worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

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