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The time was approximately 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. The wind howled, making it impossible to remain any longer, so walking was my only option. In the beginning, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but following a brief walk the rain intensified abruptly. It came as no shock. I stopped near a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy was sitting outside selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. I noticed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d manage to sell them all before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Journey Through a Place of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of falling water and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, trying to dodge 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 thoughts fill their minds? What are they experiencing? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children nestled under damp covers, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these severe cold season. I entered my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Darkness Worsens

During the darkest hours, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on broken panes sagged and flapped violently, while metal sheets broke away and crashed to the ground. Cutting through the chaos came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has soaked tents, flooded makeshift camps and turned bare earth into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, commencing in late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Ordinarily, it is faced with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are deserted and people merely survive.

But the danger of winter is no longer abstract. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, rescue operations retrieved the remains 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 are still unaccounted for. These structural failures are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the consequence of homes compromised after months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, an infant in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Thin plastic sheets sagged under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes were perpetually moist, never fully drying. Each step reinforced how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, with no power, devoid of warmth.

Students in the Storm

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils have already lost family members. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they still try to study. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into questions of conscience, dictated every moment by uncertainty about students’ security, heat and ability to find refuge.

When the storm rages, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Did the wind tear through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those remaining in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via bundling up and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including weatherproof shelters, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, relief groups reported providing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to thousands of families. In reality, however, this assistance was often perceived as inconsistent and lacking, limited to short-term fixes 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 is an annual event. People in Gaza view this crisis not as misfortune, but as being forsaken. People speak of how necessary items are blocked or slowed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are consistently hampered. Grassroots projects have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by what is allowed to enter. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are prevented from arriving.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how avoidable it could have been. No individual ought to study, raise children, or fight illness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how precarious existence is. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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