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It was around 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I returned home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. At first, it was merely a soft rain, but after about 200 metres the rain suddenly grew heavier. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy sat nearby selling homemade cookies. We shared brief remarks during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I observed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Trek Through a City of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of rain pouring down and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, trying to dodge the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. I couldn't stop thinking to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I pictured children nestled under damp covers, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I entered my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Escalates

As midnight passed, the storm reached its peak. Outside, plastic sheeting on damaged glass whipped and strained, while tin roofing ripped free and fell with a clatter. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, shattering the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil 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

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Typically, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has none of these. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are deserted and people just persevere.

But the peril of the season is now very real. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations found the victims of two children after the roof of a bombarded structure collapsed in northern Gaza, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Not long ago, an infant in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Thin plastic sheets sagged under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step reminded me how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and cramped refuges.

A great number of these residents have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has come to Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come without proper shelter, in darkness, lacking heat.

A Teacher's Anguish

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. 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 privacy is impossible and connectivity unreliable. Countless learners have already lost family members. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it ought not be necessary in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—turn into moral negotiations, dictated every moment by concern for students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

When the storm rages, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Do they feel any warmth? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter during the night? For those still living in apartments, or damaged structures, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity mostly absent and fuel rare, warmth comes mostly via donning extra clothing and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are intolerable. What about those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Reports indicate that more than a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Humanitarian assistance, including insulated tents, have been far from enough. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported delivering plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. On the ground, however, this assistance was widely experienced as patchy and insufficient, limited to temporary solutions 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 rising.

This goes beyond an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza understand this failure not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are blocked or slowed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by what is allowed to enter. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are prevented from arriving.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how avoidable it could have been. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or combat disease standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about 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, symbolises warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism