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

The clock read approximately 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, forcing me inside any longer, so I had to walk. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but after about 200 metres the rain became a downpour. It came as no shock. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy sat nearby selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks during my pause, though he didn’t seem interested. I observed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Trek Through a City 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 roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to light my way. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What are they thinking? What are they experiencing? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children huddled under damp covers, parents moving restlessly 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 severe cold season. I walked into my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Night Intensifies

In the middle of the night, the storm grew stronger. Outside, makeshift covers on broken panes whipped and strained, while tin roofing tore loose and crashed to the ground. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

For the last fortnight, 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. In different contexts, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, beginning in late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Typically, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. Now, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people simply endure.

But the threat posed by the cold is no longer abstract. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, civil defense teams found the victims of two children after the roof of a shelled home 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 damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Inadequate coverings strained under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, always damp. Each step reminded me how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has come to 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 causes deep concern. My students are not figures in a report; they are faces I recognize; intelligent, determined, but extremely fatigued. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—transform into moral negotiations, influenced daily by concern for students’ safety, warmth and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I cannot help but wonder about them. Is their shelter holding? Do they feel any warmth? Has the gale ripped through their shelter during the night? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel rare, warmth comes mainly from donning extra clothing and using whatever blankets are left. Despite this, cold nights are excruciating. What, then those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including weatherproof shelters, have been far from enough. Amid the last tempest, relief groups reported distributing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was often perceived as patchy and insufficient, limited to short-term fixes that did little against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This cannot be described as an surprise calamity. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as misfortune, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are blocked or slowed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to improvise, to distribute plastic sheeting, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The failure is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are prevented from arriving.

A Symbolic Season

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially painful is how preventable it is. No one should have to study, raise children, or fight illness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No student should fear the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain reveals just how precarious existence is. It tests bodies worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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