During a Fierce Storm, The Panicked Screams of Children in Tents Outside Echoed. This is Christmas in Gaza
It was approximately 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I returned home in Gaza City. The wind howled, and I couldnât stay out any longer, leaving me to walk. In the beginning, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but after about 200 metres the rain became a downpour. This was expected. 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 exchanged a few words as I waited, but his attention was elsewhere. I saw the cookies were hastily covered in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I wondered if heâd find buyers before the night ended. The freezing temperature invaded every space.
A Walk Through a City of Tents
Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. There were no voices from inside them, just the noise of falling water and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, trying to dodge the rain, I activated my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. My thoughts kept returning to those taking refuge within: What are they doing now? What are they thinking? What are they experiencing? It was bitterly cold. I imagined children nestled under soaked bedding, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.
Upon opening the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a understated yet stark reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these harsh winter conditions. I walked into my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.
The Darkness Intensifies
In the middle of the night, the storm grew stronger. Outside, tarps on damaged glass whipped and strained, while corrugated metal broke away and crashed to the ground. Cutting through the chaos came the desperate, terrified shouts of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt completely helpless.
During recent days, the rain has been incessant. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, flooded makeshift camps and turned open ground into mud. In other places, this might be called âpoor conditionsâ. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.
Al-Arbaâiniya
Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arbaâiniya; the fourty most severe days of winter, starting from late December and continuing through the end of January. It is the true beginning of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Normally, it is weathered through preparation and shelter. This year, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are vacant and people simply endure.
But the danger of winter is no longer abstract. Early on the Sunday before Christmas, recovery efforts recovered the bodies of two children after the roof of a shelled home collapsed in northern Gaza, saving five more people, including a child and two women. Two people have not been found. These incidents are not the result of fresh strikes, but the outcome of homes damaged from months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Not long ago, an infant in Khan Younis died of exposure to the cold.
A Life in Tents
Passing by the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Inadequate coverings buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes remained wet, incapable of drying. Each step highlighted how fragile these shelters were and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for countless individuals living in tents and packed sanctuaries.
The majority of these individuals have already been displaced, 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, with no power, without heating.
A Teacher's Anguish
Being an educator in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not figures in a report; they are young people I speak to; bright, resilient, but extremely fatigued. Most attend online classes from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity unreliable. A significant number of pupils have already experienced bereavement. Most have lost their homes. Yet they persist in learning. Their perseverance is astounding, but it ought not be necessary in this way.
In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practicesâprojects, due datesâtransform into ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by uncertainty about studentsâ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.
On evenings such as this, I find myself thinking about them. Do they have dryness? Is there heat? Did the wind tear through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those still living in apartments, or the shells that are left, there is a lack of heat. With electricity scarce and fuel in short supply, warmth comes primarily through bundling up and using the few bedding items available. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?
Aid and Abandonment
Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza live in shelters. Humanitarian assistance, including thermal blankets, have been inadequate. During the recent storm, humanitarian partners reported delivering plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to a multitude of people. On the ground, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be patchy and insufficient, limited to band-aid measures that were largely ineffective against ongoing suffering to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Sicknesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are on the upswing.
This goes beyond an unexpected catastrophe. Winter comes every year. People in Gaza view this crisis not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how necessary items are hindered or postponed, while attempts to fix broken houses are frequently blocked. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by bureaucratic barriers. The root cause is political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are kept out.
An Unnecessary Pain
What makes this suffering especially agonizing is how avoidable it could have been. No one should have to study, raise children, or combat disease standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain destroying their final textbook. Rain lays bare just how fragile life has become. It challenges health 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 neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism
