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The time was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening 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 a short distance later the rain became a downpour. This was expected. I paused beside a tent, trying to warm my hands to generate a little heat. A young boy sat nearby selling sweet treats. We spoke briefly as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Journey Through a Place of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, merely the din of torrential rain and the moan of the wind. Rushing forward, seeking escape from the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My mind continually drifted to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I envisioned children huddled under damp covers, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these severe cold season. I stepped inside my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Darkness Worsens

As midnight passed, the storm reached its peak. Outside, tarps on damaged glass whipped and strained, while tin roofing ripped free and crashed to the ground. Above it all came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, starting from late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has no such defenses. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.

But the threat posed by the cold is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts found the victims of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the result of homes weakened by months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Earlier this month, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Walking past the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Thin plastic sheets strained under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and cramped refuges.

Most of these people have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, with no power, devoid of warmth.

The Weight on Education

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not mere statistics; they are faces I recognize; intelligent, determined, but extremely fatigued. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity sporadic. Countless learners have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they continue their education. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it ought not be necessary in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—projects, due dates—become moral negotiations, shaped each day by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I find myself thinking about them. Do they have dryness? Are they warm? Has the gale ripped through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those remaining in apartments, or damaged structures, there is a lack of heat. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from bundling up and using the few bedding items available. Even so, cold nights are excruciating. What, then those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Agencies state that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Humanitarian assistance, including insulated tents, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported delivering coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. For those affected, however, this assistance was widely experienced as uneven and inadequate, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are on the upswing.

This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza understand this failure not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to find solutions, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The failure is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are prevented from arriving.

A Symbolic Season

The aspect that renders this pain especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain exposes just how precarious existence is. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

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