Amid a Violent Storm, I Could Hear. This Marks Christmas in Gaza

The time was about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. The wind howled, making it impossible to remain any longer, so I had to walk. In the beginning, it was merely a soft rain, but following a brief walk the rain intensified abruptly. That wasn’t surprising. I paused beside a tent, trying to warm my hands to generate a little heat. A young boy sat nearby selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Journey Through a Landscape of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, only the sound of rain pouring down and the roar of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: How are they passing the time now? What thoughts fill their minds? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I imagined children huddled under wet blankets, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the hardships endured across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of having a roof when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Night Escalates

During the darkest hours, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows whipped and strained, while corrugated metal tore loose and crashed to the ground. Above it all came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, shattering the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has soaked tents, flooded makeshift camps and turned bare earth into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty days of winter, commencing in late December and lasting until 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. This year, Gaza has no such defenses. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are deserted and people simply endure.

But the peril of the season is far from theoretical. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, recovery efforts found the victims of two children after the roof of a war-damaged building collapsed in northern Gaza, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. These incidents are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Not long ago, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Flimsy tarpaulins strained under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step reinforced how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for countless individuals living in tents and cramped refuges.

Most of these people have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are lost. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has come to Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come without proper shelter, in darkness, devoid of warmth.

A Teacher's Anguish

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but deeply weary. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where privacy is impossible and connectivity unreliable. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—transform into moral negotiations, dictated every moment by concern for students’ well-being, comfort and proximity to protection.

On evenings such as this, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Are they dry? Do they feel any warmth? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is no heating. With electricity scarce and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from wearing multiple layers and using whatever blankets are left. Even so, cold nights are excruciating. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Humanitarian assistance, including weatherproof shelters, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to numerous households. In reality, however, this assistance was widely experienced as inconsistent and lacking, limited to short-term fixes that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections linked to damp conditions are on the upswing.

This goes beyond 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 restricted or delayed, while attempts to fix broken houses are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by restrictions on imports. The failure is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are kept out.

An Unnecessary Pain

The aspect that renders this pain especially heartbreaking is how preventable it is. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or fight illness standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how vulnerable survival is. It strains physiques worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

This year's chill occurs alongside the Christmas season that, for millions, symbolises warmth, refuge and care for the disadvantaged. In Palestine, that {symbolism