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

The clock read around 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way home in Gaza City. A strong wind was blowing, forcing me inside any longer, so I had to walk. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but following a brief walk the rain suddenly grew heavier. It came as no shock. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy was sitting outside selling sweet treats. We spoke briefly during my pause, although he appeared disengaged. I observed the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I pondered if he’d have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.

A Walk Through a Place of Tents

Walking down 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 roar of the wind. Rushing forward, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My mind continually drifted to those huddled within: What occupies them now? What thoughts fill their minds? How do they feel? A severe chill gripped the air. I envisioned children curled under soaked bedding, parents adjusting repeatedly to keep them warm.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a quiet but powerful reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I walked into my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of enjoying a dry home when so many were exposed to the storm.

The Midnight Hour Escalates

As midnight passed, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on broken panes billowed and tore, while metal sheets tore loose and crashed to the ground. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, piercing the darkness. I felt totally incapable.

During recent days, the rain has been incessant. Freezing, pouring, and carried by strong winds, it has soaked tents, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In other places, this might be called “poor conditions”. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.

The Harshest Days

Locals call this time of year as al-Arba’iniya; the most bitter forty days of winter, commencing 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. Ordinarily, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has none of these. The cold bites through homes, streets are deserted and people merely survive.

But the danger of winter 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 are still unaccounted for. These incidents are not new attacks, but the outcome of homes weakened by months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Not long ago, an eight-month-old baby girl in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.

Fragile Shelters

Observing the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Thin plastic sheets buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses floated and clothes hung damply, never fully drying. Each step highlighted how vulnerable these tents are and how close the rain and cold threatened life and health for a vast population living in tents and overcrowded shelters.

The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are destroyed. Neighbourhoods leveled. Winter has arrived in Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, 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 individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but profoundly exhausted. Most attend online classes from tents; others from packed rooms where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity intermittent. A significant number of pupils have already suffered personal loss. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it should not be required in this way.

In Gaza, what would normally count as routine academic practices—projects, due dates—transform into questions of conscience, shaped each day by uncertainty about students’ well-being, comfort and access to shelter.

During nights like these, I find myself thinking about them. Is their shelter holding? Do they feel any warmth? Did the wind tear through their shelter while they were trying to sleep? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity largely unavailable and fuel in short supply, warmth comes mostly via wearing multiple layers and using whatever blankets are left. Nonetheless, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents?

Political Failure

Agencies state 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 plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. For those affected, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to temporary solutions that did little against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Chest infections, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are rising.

This is not an surprise calamity. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as misfortune, but as being forsaken. People speak of how critical supplies are blocked or slowed, while attempts to repair damaged homes are consistently hampered. Community efforts 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. Answers are available, but are prevented from arriving.

A Preventable Suffering

The factor that intensifies this hardship especially heartbreaking is how avoidable it could have been. 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 lays bare just how precarious existence is. It strains physiques worn down by pressure, weariness, and sorrow.

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