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

The time was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I headed back home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. In the beginning, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but after about 200 metres the rain suddenly grew heavier. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, trying to warm my hands to fight off the chill. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We exchanged a few words while I stood there, though he didn’t seem interested. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered 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

While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded 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, trying to dodge the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What occupies them now? What are they thinking? What emotions do they hold? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children nestled under wet blankets, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

When I opened the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I stepped inside my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Darkness Worsens

During the darkest hours, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on shattered windows billowed and tore, while metal sheets broke away and crashed to the ground. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, piercing the darkness. I felt completely helpless.

During recent days, the rain has been relentless. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned open ground into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “bad weather”. 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, beginning in late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Normally, it is faced with preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has none of these. The frost seeps through homes, streets are vacant and people merely survive.

But the threat posed by the cold is no longer abstract. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts found the victims of two children after the roof of a bombarded structure collapsed in northern Gaza, freeing five additional individuals, including a child and two women. Two people remain missing. These structural failures are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Earlier this month, a young child in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Passing by the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Flimsy tarpaulins strained under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for a vast population living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, with no power, devoid of warmth.

The Weight on Education

As a university lecturer in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not mere statistics; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but profoundly exhausted. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from cramped quarters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity sporadic. Many of my students have already experienced bereavement. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it ought not be necessary in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—projects, due dates—become moral negotiations, influenced daily by anxiety over students’ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I cannot help but wonder about them. Are they dry? Are they warm? Has the gale ripped through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity mostly absent and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via donning extra clothing and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are excruciating. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Humanitarian assistance, including weatherproof shelters, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported distributing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was widely experienced as patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures 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 view this crisis not as fate, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are consistently hampered. Local initiatives have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they are still constrained by what is allowed to enter. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

A Symbolic Season

What makes this suffering especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain lays bare just how precarious existence is. It strains physiques worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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