Amid a Raging Tempest, The Panicked Screams of Children in Tents Outside Echoed. This Defines Christmas in Gaza

The clock read around 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, and I couldn’t stay out any longer, leaving me to walk. Initially, it was merely a soft rain, but following a brief walk the rain became a downpour. It came as no shock. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to draw some warmth. A young boy had positioned himself selling homemade cookies. We shared brief remarks while I stood there, though he didn’t seem interested. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Trek Through a Place of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. Quickening my pace, attempting to avoid the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What thoughts fill their minds? What are they experiencing? A severe chill gripped the air. I imagined children nestled 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 struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I stepped inside my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Intensifies

As midnight passed, the storm intensified. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows whipped and strained, while tin roofing broke away and crashed to the ground. Overriding the noise came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been unending. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, swamped refugee areas and turned open ground into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “bad 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 most bitter forty days of winter, beginning in 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 cold bites through homes, streets are empty and people just persevere.

But the danger of winter is far from theoretical. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations retrieved the remains of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. Such collapses are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes compromised after months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Earlier this month, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Walking past the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Flimsy tarpaulins sagged under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for a vast population living in tents and cramped refuges.

A great number of these residents have already been displaced, 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, without electricity, lacking heat.

A Teacher's Anguish

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not distant names; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but extremely fatigued. Most attend online classes from tents; others from packed rooms where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity sporadic. Many of my students have already experienced bereavement. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they continue their education. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—become ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ security, heat and proximity to protection.

When the storm rages, I find myself thinking about them. Is their shelter holding? Is there heat? Has the gale ripped through their shelter during the night? For those still living in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is a lack of heat. With electricity mostly absent and fuel scarce, warmth comes primarily through wearing multiple layers and using any remaining covers. Nonetheless, cold nights are intolerable. What about those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Figures show that well over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Aid supplies, including thermal blankets, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. In reality, however, this assistance was often perceived as uneven and inadequate, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Structures give way. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are increasing.

This cannot be described as an unexpected catastrophe. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza understand this failure not as fate, but as neglect. People speak of how critical supplies are hindered or postponed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they remain limited by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are withheld.

A Preventable Suffering

What makes this suffering especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No student should fear the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain exposes just how precarious existence is. It strains physiques worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

This winter occurs alongside the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the disadvantaged. In Palestine, that {symbolism