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The time was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way home in Gaza City. The wind howled, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, so walking was my only option. At first, it was only a light drizzle, but following a brief walk the rain intensified abruptly. That wasn’t surprising. I stopped near a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy sat nearby selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Journey Through a City of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, only the sound of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. I couldn't stop thinking to those huddled within: How are they passing the time now? What thoughts fill their minds? How do they feel? The cold was piercing. I envisioned children curled under wet blankets, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a understated yet stark reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these severe cold season. I stepped inside my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of having a roof when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Night Worsens

During the darkest hours, the storm grew stronger. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows whipped and strained, while metal sheets tore loose and crashed to the ground. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, piercing the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

During recent days, the rain has been incessant. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned open ground into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Residents refer to 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 true beginning of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Typically, it is endured with preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.

But the danger of winter is no longer abstract. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. These incidents are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step reminded me how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and cramped refuges.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, with no power, 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 young people I speak to; intelligent, determined, but profoundly exhausted. Most attend online classes 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 seen their houses destroyed. Yet they still try to study. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—become moral negotiations, influenced daily by anxiety over students’ safety, warmth and access to shelter.

When the storm rages, I am constantly preoccupied 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 no heating. With electricity scarce and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from bundling up and using any remaining covers. Nonetheless, cold nights are excruciating. What about those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Figures show that over a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, relief groups reported providing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was often perceived as inconsistent and lacking, limited to short-term fixes that did little against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections linked to damp conditions are rising.

This goes beyond an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza view this crisis not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are hindered or postponed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to find solutions, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they are still constrained by bureaucratic barriers. 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 agonizing is how avoidable it could have been. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No student should fear the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain reveals just how fragile life has become. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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