In the midst of a Fierce Gale, The Cries of Children in Tents Pierced the Night. This Defines Christmas in Gaza

The clock read approximately 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. Initially, it was only a light drizzle, but a short distance later the rain intensified abruptly. It came as no shock. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy had positioned himself selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Trek Through a Landscape of Tents

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, only the sound of rain pouring down and the moan of the wind. Quickening my pace, attempting to avoid the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. I couldn't stop thinking to those sheltering inside: How are they passing the time now? What is their state of mind? What are they experiencing? The cold was piercing. I imagined children nestled under soaked bedding, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a understated yet stark reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I entered my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of having a roof when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Intensifies

During the darkest hours, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on damaged glass sagged and flapped violently, while tin roofing tore loose and fell with a clatter. Overriding the noise came the piercing, fearful cries of children, shattering the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been incessant. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In other places, this might be called “bad weather”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

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

But the threat posed by the cold is far from theoretical. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, civil defense teams 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 have not been found. These incidents are not the result of fresh strikes, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Flimsy tarpaulins buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes were perpetually moist, always damp. Each step reminded me how fragile these shelters were 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 lost. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, in darkness, devoid of warmth.

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; smart, persistent, but deeply weary. Most attend online classes from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity unreliable. A significant number of pupils have already experienced bereavement. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they continue their education. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—projects, due dates—turn into ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and proximity to protection.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Has the gale ripped through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those residing in apartments, or damaged structures, there is a lack of heat. With electricity mostly absent and fuel rare, warmth comes mostly via donning extra clothing and using the few bedding items available. Despite this, cold nights are intolerable. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that more than a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. During the recent storm, aid organizations reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was often perceived as uneven and inadequate, limited to short-term fixes that offered scant protection against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This cannot be described as an unforeseen disaster. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza understand this failure not as misfortune, but as abandonment. People speak of how essential materials are hindered or postponed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to find solutions, to provide coverings, yet they remain limited by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are kept out.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially painful is how avoidable it could have been. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or fight illness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain lays bare just how fragile life has become. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

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