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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, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, leaving me to walk. Initially, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but following a brief walk the rain intensified abruptly. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, trying to warm my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy had positioned himself selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly while I stood there, although he appeared disengaged. I observed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.

A Trek Through a Landscape of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, merely the din 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: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children curled under wet blankets, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I entered my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Intensifies

During the darkest hours, the storm intensified. Outside, tarps on broken panes billowed and tore, while corrugated metal tore loose and fell with a clatter. Cutting through the chaos came the piercing, fearful cries of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, swamped refugee areas and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty days of winter, commencing in late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are vacant and people simply endure.

But the peril of the season is now very real. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people have not been found. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the result of homes compromised after 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

Walking past the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

A great number of these residents have already been displaced, many repeatedly. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, devoid of warmth.

Students in the Storm

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not mere statistics; they are individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but extremely fatigued. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from cramped quarters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity unreliable. Countless learners have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they still try to study. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—become questions of conscience, influenced daily by concern for students’ well-being, comfort and proximity to protection.

On evenings such as this, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Is there heat? Did the wind tear through their shelter during the night? For those remaining in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is no heating. With electricity mostly absent and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via donning extra clothing and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are intolerable. What, then those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Figures show that more than a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported delivering coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was often perceived as patchy and insufficient, limited to temporary solutions that offered scant protection against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are on the upswing.

This is not an surprise calamity. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza view this crisis not as misfortune, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to find solutions, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by bureaucratic barriers. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

An Unnecessary Pain

The aspect that renders this pain especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or combat disease 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 lays bare just how precarious existence is. It strains physiques worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

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