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

The clock read about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. The wind howled, forcing me inside any longer, so I had to walk. In the beginning, it was merely a soft rain, but after about 200 metres the rain became a downpour. That wasn’t surprising. I stopped near a tent, trying to warm my hands to draw some warmth. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We shared brief remarks while I stood there, although he appeared disengaged. I saw the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.

A Trek Through a City of Tents

Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, canvas structures flanked both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, merely the din of torrential rain and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, trying to dodge the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to see the road ahead. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What are they doing now? What are they thinking? How do they feel? It was bitterly cold. I envisioned children curled under wet blankets, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the struggles borne across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I entered my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of having a roof when countless others faced exposure to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Escalates

In the middle of the night, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on damaged glass billowed and tore, while tin roofing tore loose and crashed to the ground. Cutting through the chaos came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, shattering the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

Over the past two weeks, the rain has been unending. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has soaked tents, flooded makeshift camps and turned open ground into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called “inclement weather”. In Gaza, it is endured in a state of exposure and abandonment.

Al-Arba’iniya

Residents refer to this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Typically, it is faced with preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The chill penetrates through homes, streets are vacant and people simply endure.

But the peril of the season is now very real. On the Sunday morning 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 remain missing. These structural failures are not new attacks, but the outcome of homes weakened by months of bombardment and finally undone by winter rain. Earlier this month, an infant in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.

Precarious Existence

Observing the camp nearest my home, I saw the consequences up close. Thin plastic sheets strained under the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes were perpetually moist, always damp. Each step reinforced how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and packed sanctuaries.

A great number of these residents have already been uprooted, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come without proper shelter, without electricity, without heating.

The Weight on Education

Being an educator in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not figures in a report; they are faces I recognize; intelligent, determined, but extremely fatigued. Most attend online classes from tents; others from cramped quarters where privacy is impossible and connectivity unreliable. Many of my students have already experienced bereavement. Most have seen their houses destroyed. Yet they still try to study. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would typically constitute routine academic practices—tasks, schedules—transform into questions of conscience, dictated every moment by concern for students’ safety, warmth and access to shelter.

When the storm rages, I cannot help but wonder about them. Do they have dryness? Are they warm? Did the wind tear through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those still living in apartments, or damaged structures, there is a lack of heat. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel rare, warmth comes mostly via bundling up and using the few bedding items available. Even so, cold nights are excruciating. What about those living in tents?

Aid and Abandonment

Agencies state that over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Relief items, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. When the cyclone hit, relief groups reported delivering coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. In reality, however, this assistance was often perceived as inconsistent and lacking, limited to band-aid measures that did little against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are on the upswing.

This is not an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza view this crisis not as fate, but as being forsaken. People speak of how essential materials are blocked or slowed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are repeatedly obstructed. Local initiatives have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they continue to be hampered by bureaucratic barriers. The failure is political and humanitarian. Remedies are known, but are withheld.

An Unnecessary Pain

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially agonizing is how unnecessary it should be. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or fight illness standing knee-high in cold water inside a tent. It is wrong for a pupil to worry about the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain reveals just how precarious existence is. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.

This winter coincides with the Christmas season that, for millions, represents warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism