During a Violent Gale, The Cries of Children in Tents Pierced the Night. This is Christmas in Gaza
It was about 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, and I couldnât stay out any longer, leaving me to walk. In the beginning, it was merely a soft rain, but after about 200 metres the rain intensified abruptly. This was expected. I took shelter by a tent, clapping my hands to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I observed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I pondered if heâd find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.
A Journey Through a Landscape of Tents
While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the whistle of the wind. As I hurried on, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My mind continually drifted to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What is their state of mind? What are they experiencing? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children curled under wet blankets, parents adjusting repeatedly 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 harsh winter conditions. I entered my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of possessing shelter when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm.
The Darkness Escalates
During the darkest hours, the storm intensified. Outside, tarps on damaged glass billowed and tore, while corrugated metal tore loose and fell with a clatter. Overriding the noise came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.
Over the past two weeks, the rain has been relentless. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has soaked tents, flooded makeshift camps and turned open ground into mud. In different contexts, this might be called âinclement weatherâ. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.
Al-Arbaâiniya
Locals call this time of year as al-Arbaâiniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and persisting to the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Ordinarily, it is endured with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has no such defenses. The cold bites 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, recovery efforts retrieved the remains 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 are still unaccounted for. These incidents are not new attacks, but the outcome of homes weakened by months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. In recent days, a young child in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.
A Life in Tents
Observing the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and overcrowded shelters.
Most of these people have already been forced from their homes, many on multiple occasions. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come devoid of safe refuge, without electricity, devoid of warmth.
A Teacher's Anguish
In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather weighs heavily on me. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; intelligent, determined, but extremely fatigued. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where privacy is impossible and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils 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 practicesâprojects, due datesâtransform into ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by concern for studentsâ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.
When the storm rages, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Are they dry? Is there heat? Has the gale ripped through their shelter during the night? For those still living in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is a lack of heat. With electricity mostly absent and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from donning extra clothing and using any remaining covers. Even so, cold nights are intolerable. How then those living in tents?
Aid and Abandonment
Reports indicate that more than a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Aid supplies, including insulated tents, have been far from enough. During the recent storm, humanitarian partners reported providing tarpaulins, tents and bedding to thousands of families. In reality, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures that were largely ineffective against extended hardship to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections linked to damp conditions are on the upswing.
This goes beyond an surprise calamity. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how critical supplies are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Community efforts have tried to make do, to hand out tarps, yet they remain limited by restrictions on imports. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are prevented from arriving.
A Preventable Suffering
What makes this suffering especially heartbreaking is how unnecessary it should be. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain ruining their last notebook. Rain reveals just how vulnerable survival is. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.
This winter aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the most vulnerable. In Palestine, that {symbolism
