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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, forcing me inside any longer, so walking was my only option. Initially, it was only a light drizzle, but following a brief walk the rain suddenly grew heavier. This was expected. I paused beside a tent, rubbing my palms together to fight off the chill. A young boy was sitting outside selling homemade cookies. We shared brief remarks during my pause, but his attention was elsewhere. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Walk Through a Place of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, only the sound of falling water and the whistle of the wind. Rushing forward, trying to dodge the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What thoughts fill their minds? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I pictured children huddled under wet blankets, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Darkness Intensifies

As midnight passed, the storm grew stronger. Outside, makeshift covers on broken panes billowed and tore, while metal sheets tore loose and slammed down. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been incessant. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty days of winter, beginning in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Typically, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The cold bites through homes, streets are vacant and people just persevere.

But the danger of winter is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. These structural failures are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Not long ago, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Flimsy tarpaulins sagged under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step reinforced how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many repeatedly. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, without heating.

The Weight on Education

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not mere statistics; they are faces I recognize; intelligent, determined, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity sporadic. Many of my students have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they continue their education. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by anxiety over students’ well-being, comfort and proximity to protection.

During nights like these, I cannot help but wonder about them. Is their shelter holding? Do they feel any warmth? 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 largely unavailable and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been far from enough. During the recent storm, relief groups reported delivering plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was widely experienced as patchy and insufficient, limited to temporary solutions that offered scant protection against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to find solutions, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are withheld.

A Symbolic Season

The aspect that renders this pain especially heartbreaking is how preventable it is. No individual ought to study, raise children, or fight illness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain reveals just how vulnerable survival is. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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