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The clock read approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back home in Gaza City. The wind howled, forcing me inside any longer, so walking was my only option. At first, it was merely a soft rain, but following a brief walk the rain became a downpour. It came as no shock. I paused beside a tent, clapping my hands to generate a little heat. A young boy sat nearby selling sweet treats. We exchanged a few words during my pause, but his attention was elsewhere. I saw the cookies were poorly packaged 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 Journey Through a City of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of falling water and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. I couldn't stop thinking to those huddled within: What occupies them now? What is their state of mind? What are they experiencing? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children nestled under wet blankets, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a understated yet stark reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Darkness Escalates

In the middle of the night, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on broken panes billowed and tore, while corrugated metal ripped free and slammed down. Overriding the noise came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been incessant. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has soaked tents, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Locals call 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 real onset of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Typically, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are deserted and people just persevere.

But the danger of winter is far from theoretical. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, civil defense teams retrieved the remains of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. These structural failures are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes weakened by 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 observed the results up close. Flimsy tarpaulins buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, never fully drying. Each step highlighted how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for a vast population living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

A great number of these residents have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, in darkness, lacking heat.

The Weight on Education

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not mere statistics; they are faces I recognize; smart, persistent, but profoundly exhausted. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from cramped quarters where privacy is impossible and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils have already experienced bereavement. Most have lost their homes. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—projects, due dates—become moral negotiations, dictated every moment by anxiety over students’ security, heat and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Did the wind tear through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is no heating. With electricity scarce and fuel rare, warmth comes mainly from wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Despite this, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Figures show that over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Humanitarian assistance, including insulated tents, have been inadequate. During the recent storm, humanitarian partners reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to thousands of families. In reality, however, this assistance was often perceived as uneven and inadequate, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are on the upswing.

This is not an unexpected catastrophe. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as misfortune, but as being forsaken. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to find solutions, to hand out tarps, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The failure is political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are withheld.

A Symbolic Season

What makes this suffering especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain exposes just how vulnerable survival is. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

The current cold season aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, represents warmth, refuge and care for the disadvantaged. In Palestine, that {symbolism