During a Raging Gale, The Cries of Children in Tents Pierced the Night. This Defines Christmas in Gaza

The clock read around 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, making it impossible to remain any longer, so walking was my only option. Initially, it was merely a soft rain, but following a brief walk the rain suddenly grew heavier. That wasn’t surprising. I paused beside a tent, rubbing my palms together to fight off the chill. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We exchanged a few words as I waited, but his attention was elsewhere. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if he’d find buyers before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Walk Through a City of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, merely the din of falling water and the whistle of the wind. Rushing forward, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. I couldn't stop thinking to those huddled within: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? How do they feel? A severe chill gripped the air. I imagined children nestled under wet blankets, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of having a roof when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Escalates

During the darkest hours, the storm intensified. Outside, makeshift covers on damaged glass whipped and strained, while corrugated metal broke away and fell with a clatter. Cutting through the chaos came the piercing, fearful cries of children, piercing the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been unending. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has soaked tents, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. In other places, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Residents refer to 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 reveals its full force. Typically, it is faced with preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.

But the danger of winter is no longer abstract. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people have not been found. These incidents are not new attacks, but the result of homes weakened by months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Not long ago, an infant in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Walking past the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings sagged under the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes remained wet, never fully drying. Each step reinforced how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for countless individuals living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

Most of these people have already been uprooted, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come without proper shelter, with no power, lacking heat.

A Teacher's Anguish

In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not distant names; they are individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from packed rooms where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they persist in learning. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—become ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by uncertainty about students’ security, heat and access to shelter.

When the storm rages, I find myself thinking about them. Are they dry? Is there heat? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter during the night? For those still living in apartments, or damaged structures, there is no heating. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel scarce, warmth comes primarily through bundling up and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are intolerable. What about those living in tents?

The Humanitarian Shortfall

Agencies state that more than a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Aid supplies, including thermal blankets, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported delivering coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was often perceived as uneven and inadequate, limited to band-aid measures that were largely ineffective against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are increasing.

This cannot be described as an unexpected catastrophe. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as fate, but as being forsaken. People speak of how essential materials are blocked or slowed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they remain limited by what is allowed to enter. The failure is political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are withheld.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. No one should have to study, raise children, or combat disease standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain lays bare just how precarious existence is. It challenges health 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 most vulnerable. In Palestine, that {symbolism