In the midst of a Violent Tempest, The Cries of Children in Tents Pierced the Night. This Marks Christmas in Gaza

It was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I returned home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, forcing me inside any longer, leaving me to walk. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but following a brief walk the rain intensified abruptly. That wasn’t surprising. I paused beside a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy sat nearby selling baked goods. We exchanged a few words during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d manage to sell them all before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Walk Through a City of Tents

As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, merely the din of rain pouring down and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, attempting to avoid the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What thoughts fill their minds? What emotions do they hold? The cold was piercing. I envisioned children curled under damp covers, parents shifting constantly to keep them warm.

Upon opening the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I walked into my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of possessing shelter when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Night Intensifies

In the middle of the night, the storm intensified. Outside, tarps on damaged glass sagged and flapped violently, while tin roofing tore loose and fell with a clatter. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

For the last fortnight, the rain has been relentless. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has soaked tents, swamped refugee areas and turned the soil into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, beginning in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the real onset of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Ordinarily, it is weathered through 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 far from theoretical. In the early hours of Sunday before Christmas, rescue operations recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, rescuing five others, including a child and two women. Two people are still unaccounted for. Such collapses are not new attacks, but the consequence of homes weakened by months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Earlier this month, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

A Life in Tents

Observing the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Flimsy tarpaulins buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, always damp. Each step reminded me how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for countless individuals living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many on multiple occasions. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but shelter from its fury has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, devoid of warmth.

A Teacher's Anguish

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not distant names; they are faces I recognize; smart, persistent, but deeply weary. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from packed rooms where solitude is unattainable and connectivity sporadic. Many of my students have already suffered personal loss. Most have lost their homes. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it must not be demanded in this way.

In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—turn into questions of conscience, shaped each day by anxiety over students’ well-being, comfort and ability to find refuge.

On evenings such as this, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Is their shelter holding? Is there heat? Did the wind tear through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those still living in apartments, or damaged structures, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel rare, warmth comes mostly via donning extra clothing and using the few bedding items available. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. How then those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Figures show that well over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including weatherproof shelters, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, aid organizations reported providing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. In reality, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to band-aid measures that did little against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Respiratory illnesses, 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 hindered or postponed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Local initiatives have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they continue to be hampered by what is allowed to enter. The failure is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are prevented from arriving.

A Symbolic Season

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how avoidable it could have been. No one should have to study, raise children, or fight illness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No student should fear the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain reveals just how fragile life has become. It strains physiques worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.

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