During a Violent Gale, The Panicked Screams of Children in Tents Outside Echoed. This Marks Christmas in Gaza

The time was about 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, forcing me inside any longer, so walking was my only option. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but after about 200 metres the rain suddenly grew heavier. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to fight off the chill. A young boy was sitting outside selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I noticed the cookies were loosely wrapped in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d manage to sell them all before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Trek Through a City of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, attempting to avoid the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I pictured children huddled under soaked bedding, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a understated yet stark reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.

The Darkness Intensifies

During the darkest hours, the storm grew stronger. Outside, tarps on damaged glass billowed and tore, while corrugated metal broke away and slammed down. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been unending. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, swamped refugee areas and turned open ground into mud. In other places, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.

The Cruelest Season

Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, starting from 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. Normally, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are vacant and people just persevere.

But the peril of the season 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, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. These incidents are not new attacks, but the result of homes damaged from months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Earlier this month, a young child in Khan Younis passed away from exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Thin plastic sheets sagged under the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step reinforced how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for countless individuals living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many repeatedly. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has come to Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, with no power, lacking heat.

The Weight on Education

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; smart, persistent, but profoundly exhausted. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. Countless learners have already lost family members. 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 typically constitute routine academic practices—assignments, deadlines—turn into moral negotiations, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ well-being, comfort and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I cannot help but wonder about them. Are they dry? Do they feel any warmth? Has the gale ripped through their shelter during the night? For those still living in apartments, or what remains of them, there is a lack of heat. With electricity scarce and fuel rare, warmth comes mainly from donning extra clothing and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?

Political Failure

Agencies state that more than a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Aid supplies, including insulated tents, have been far from enough. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to numerous households. In reality, however, this assistance was widely experienced as inconsistent and lacking, limited to temporary solutions that did little against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections caused by damp conditions are on the upswing.

This is not an surprise calamity. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are blocked or slowed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to improvise, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by bureaucratic barriers. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially painful is how preventable it is. It is unconscionable 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 reveals just how vulnerable survival is. It tests bodies worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

This year's chill aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism