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It was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, making it impossible to remain any longer, so I had to walk. At first, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but a short distance later the rain intensified abruptly. This was expected. I paused beside a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly while I stood there, but his attention was elsewhere. I saw the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Journey 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, only the sound of rain pouring down and the roar of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: How are they passing the time now? What is their state of mind? How do they feel? A severe chill gripped the air. I imagined children huddled under damp covers, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a understated yet stark reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these severe cold season. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of having a roof when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Darkness Escalates

As midnight passed, the storm grew stronger. Outside, tarps on broken panes billowed and tore, while tin roofing tore loose and slammed down. Cutting through the chaos 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 flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned open ground into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “bad weather”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe 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 reveals its full force. Normally, it is endured with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has no such defenses. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are deserted and people simply endure.

But the danger of winter is now very real. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies 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 have not been found. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the consequence of homes compromised after months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Not long ago, 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. Thin plastic sheets strained under the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes hung damply, always damp. Each step reminded me how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for a vast population living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, in darkness, devoid of warmth.

The Weight on Education

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not mere statistics; they are faces I recognize; smart, persistent, but extremely fatigued. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where privacy is impossible and connectivity sporadic. Countless learners have already suffered personal loss. 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 typically constitute routine academic practices—projects, due dates—become moral negotiations, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ safety, warmth and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Are they dry? Is there heat? Has the gale ripped through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those residing in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is no heating. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel rare, warmth comes primarily through donning extra clothing and using any remaining covers. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Figures show that well over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Relief items, including insulated tents, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, relief groups reported distributing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. On the ground, however, this assistance was often perceived as patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures that offered scant protection against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections linked to damp conditions are increasing.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as bad luck, but as being forsaken. People speak of how essential materials are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to find solutions, to provide coverings, yet they remain limited by what is allowed to enter. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

A Preventable Suffering

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how preventable it is. It is unconscionable 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 destroying their final textbook. Rain reveals just how precarious existence is. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

This winter coincides with the Christmas season that, for millions, symbolises warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism