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The clock read approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way 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 just a gentle sprinkle, but after about 200 metres the rain became a downpour. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling sweet treats. We shared brief remarks while I stood there, but his attention was elsewhere. I observed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Walk Through a City 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, only the sound of torrential rain and the roar of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My mind continually drifted to those taking refuge within: What occupies them now? What is their state of mind? How do they feel? The cold was piercing. I envisioned children curled under damp covers, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I stepped inside my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Darkness Worsens

In the middle of the night, the storm grew stronger. Outside, plastic sheeting on broken panes billowed and tore, while corrugated metal tore loose and slammed down. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, piercing 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, swamped refugee areas and turned the soil into mud. In other places, 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, starting from late December and lasting until 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. Currently, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.

But the danger of winter is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations 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 incidents are not the result of fresh strikes, but the consequence of homes damaged from months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. In recent days, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings strained under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes hung damply, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for countless individuals living in tents and cramped refuges.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has come to Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, with no power, without heating.

The Weight on Education

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not distant names; they are faces I recognize; bright, resilient, but extremely fatigued. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from packed rooms where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they still try to study. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—projects, due dates—transform into questions of conscience, influenced daily by concern for students’ security, heat and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? 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 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 excruciating. How then those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Reports indicate that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including insulated tents, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to short-term fixes that offered scant protection against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are on the upswing.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how critical supplies are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are consistently hampered. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by bureaucratic barriers. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are kept out.

An Unnecessary Pain

What makes this suffering especially agonizing is how preventable it is. No one should have 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 fragile life has become. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

The current cold season occurs alongside the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the disadvantaged. In Palestine, that {symbolism