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The clock read around 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, leaving me to walk. Initially, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but after about 200 metres the rain suddenly grew heavier. It came as no shock. I paused beside a tent, clapping my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy was sitting outside selling baked goods. We spoke briefly while I stood there, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Walk Through a Landscape of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, only the sound of rain pouring down and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What occupies them now? What is their state of mind? What are they experiencing? The cold was piercing. I imagined children huddled under wet blankets, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I stepped inside my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Darkness Escalates

As midnight passed, the storm grew stronger. Outside, tarps on broken panes billowed and tore, while corrugated metal tore loose and fell with a clatter. Overriding the noise came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been incessant. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned the soil 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, beginning in late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Normally, it is faced with preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are vacant and people just persevere.

But the peril of the season is now very real. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, recovery efforts found the victims 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. These structural failures are not the result of fresh strikes, but the consequence of homes weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, an infant in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Flimsy tarpaulins sagged under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes remained wet, never fully drying. Each step highlighted how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and cramped refuges.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many repeatedly. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has come to Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, with no power, devoid of warmth.

The Weight on Education

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not distant names; they are faces I recognize; bright, resilient, but profoundly exhausted. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity unreliable. Countless learners have already experienced bereavement. Most have lost their homes. Yet they persist in learning. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it ought not be necessary in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—turn into moral negotiations, dictated every moment by concern for students’ safety, warmth and access to shelter.

When the storm rages, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Do they feel any warmth? Has the gale ripped through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those remaining in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity scarce and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including weatherproof shelters, have been inadequate. Amid the last tempest, humanitarian partners reported providing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to numerous households. On the ground, however, this assistance was widely experienced as patchy and insufficient, limited to short-term fixes that offered scant protection against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This cannot be described as an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as fate, but as neglect. People speak of how critical supplies are hindered or postponed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

An Unnecessary Pain

What makes this suffering especially painful is how unnecessary it should be. No one should have to study, raise children, or fight illness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain reveals just how vulnerable survival is. It challenges health worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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