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It was approximately 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, making it impossible to remain any longer, so walking was my only option. Initially, it was only a light drizzle, but a short distance later the rain suddenly grew heavier. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling sweet treats. We exchanged a few words as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. I observed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d find buyers 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, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, merely the din of rain pouring down and the roar of the wind. As I hurried on, seeking escape from the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: How are they passing the time now? What are they thinking? What are they experiencing? The cold was piercing. I imagined children huddled under damp covers, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a understated yet stark reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I walked into my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of having a roof when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Darkness Escalates

In the middle of the night, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows sagged and flapped violently, while metal sheets broke away and fell with a clatter. Above it all came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, shattering the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

During recent days, the rain has been incessant. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned bare earth into mud. In other places, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, commencing in late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Normally, it is endured with preparation and shelter. Now, 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, rescue operations retrieved the remains of two children after the roof of a bombarded structure 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 weakened by months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Earlier this month, an infant in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Walking past the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, always damp. Each step reinforced how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, in darkness, without heating.

Students in the Storm

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not mere statistics; they are individuals I know; smart, persistent, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where privacy is impossible and connectivity sporadic. Countless learners have already lost family members. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they persist in learning. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into moral negotiations, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and ability to find refuge.

When the storm rages, I cannot help but wonder about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those remaining in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is a lack of heat. With electricity scarce and fuel rare, warmth comes mostly via wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Figures show that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Aid supplies, including weatherproof shelters, have been insufficient. Amid the last tempest, humanitarian partners reported providing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to a multitude of people. For those affected, however, this assistance was widely experienced as patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are rising.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as bad luck, but as being forsaken. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are repeatedly obstructed. Community efforts have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they remain limited by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are kept out.

A Symbolic Season

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought to study, raise children, or fight illness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how vulnerable survival is. It challenges health worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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