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It was approximately 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I returned home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. At first, it was merely a soft rain, but following a brief walk the rain suddenly grew heavier. That wasn’t surprising. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy was sitting outside selling baked goods. We exchanged a few words as I waited, though he didn’t seem interested. 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. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Walk Through a Place of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the roar of the wind. Rushing forward, seeking escape from the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What occupies them now? What are they thinking? How do they feel? It was bitterly cold. I pictured children curled under damp covers, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I walked into my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Intensifies

As midnight passed, the storm intensified. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows sagged and flapped violently, while metal sheets broke away and fell with a clatter. Overriding the noise came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, shattering the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

During recent days, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned open ground into mud. In other places, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, beginning in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season reveals its full force. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are vacant and people just persevere.

But the peril of the season is now very real. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts retrieved the remains 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 have not been found. These incidents are not new attacks, but the result of homes compromised after months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, an infant in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Inadequate coverings strained under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes hung damply, incapable of 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 packed sanctuaries.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come without proper shelter, 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 faces I recognize; smart, persistent, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from cramped quarters where privacy is impossible and connectivity unreliable. Countless learners have already suffered personal loss. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—projects, due dates—turn into questions of conscience, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I cannot help but wonder about them. Do they have dryness? Is there heat? Has the gale ripped through their shelter during the night? For those remaining in apartments, or what remains of them, there is no heating. With electricity scarce and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Reports indicate that more than a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including thermal blankets, have been insufficient. During the recent storm, relief groups reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to thousands of families. On the ground, however, this assistance was often perceived as uneven and inadequate, limited to temporary solutions that did little against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections linked to damp conditions are on the upswing.

This cannot be described as an unexpected catastrophe. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as fate, but as being forsaken. People speak of how necessary items are hindered or postponed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

A Preventable Suffering

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially agonizing is how avoidable it could have been. No one should have 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 destroying their final textbook. Rain exposes just how fragile life has become. It strains physiques worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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