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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, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, so I had to walk. Initially, it was only a light drizzle, but following a brief walk the rain suddenly grew heavier. That wasn’t surprising. I paused beside a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling sweet treats. We spoke briefly while I stood there, but his attention was elsewhere. I noticed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Trek Through a City of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, just the noise of rain pouring down and the moan of the wind. Rushing forward, trying to dodge the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: What occupies them now? What thoughts fill their minds? How do they feel? The cold was piercing. I imagined 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 entered my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Night Worsens

During the darkest hours, the storm grew stronger. Outside, tarps on broken panes billowed and tore, while corrugated metal broke away and slammed down. Above it all came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

For the last fortnight, the rain has been incessant. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has soaked tents, flooded makeshift camps and turned the soil into mud. In other places, this might be called “bad weather”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, beginning in late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Ordinarily, it is endured with preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people just persevere.

But the threat posed by the cold is far from theoretical. 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, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the consequence of homes damaged from months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Earlier this month, an infant in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Inadequate coverings strained under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes remained wet, never fully drying. Each step reinforced how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

A great number of these residents have already been displaced, many repeatedly. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, in darkness, lacking heat.

The Weight on Education

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not distant names; they are individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but profoundly exhausted. Most attend online classes from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. Countless learners have already experienced bereavement. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they still try to study. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—turn into moral negotiations, influenced daily by concern for students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I cannot help but wonder about them. Do they have dryness? Are they warm? Did the wind tear through their shelter during the night? For those still living in apartments, or damaged structures, there is no heating. With electricity scarce and fuel in short supply, warmth comes primarily through wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Nonetheless, cold nights are intolerable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including insulated tents, have been far from enough. During the recent storm, relief groups reported delivering tarpaulins, tents and bedding to a multitude of people. For those affected, however, this assistance was widely experienced as patchy and insufficient, limited to short-term fixes that offered scant protection against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza understand this failure not as bad luck, but as being forsaken. People speak of how critical supplies are blocked or slowed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are prevented from arriving.

An Unnecessary Pain

The aspect that renders this pain especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. No one should have to study, raise children, or combat disease standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how precarious existence is. It tests bodies worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

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