In the midst of a Violent Storm, I Could Hear. This Defines Christmas in Gaza
It was about 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I made my way home in Gaza City. The wind howled, making it impossible to remain any longer, leaving me to walk. Initially, it was only a light drizzle, but following a brief walk the rain intensified abruptly. That wasnât surprising. I took shelter by a tent, rubbing my palms together to draw some warmth. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We spoke briefly during my pause, though he didnât seem interested. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, dampened from the drizzle, and I wondered if heâd have enough to sell before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air.
A Trek Through a Place of Tents
Walking down al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, tents lined both sides of the road. An eerie silence replaced voices from inside them, just the noise of falling water and the roar of the wind. Quickening my pace, seeking escape from the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. I couldn't stop thinking to those taking refuge within: What occupies them now? What thoughts fill their minds? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I pictured children curled under damp covers, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.
When I opened the door to my apartment, the icy doorknob served as a subtle yet haunting reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these severe cold season. I stepped inside my apartment and felt consumed by the guilt of having a roof when countless others faced exposure to the storm.
The Darkness Worsens
As midnight passed, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on shattered windows whipped and strained, while tin roofing tore loose and slammed down. Cutting through the chaos came the sharp, panicked screams of children, cutting through the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.
For the last fortnight, the rain has been incessant. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has flooded makeshift homes, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. In different contexts, this might be called âpoor conditionsâ. In Gaza, it is experienced amidst exposure and abandonment.
Al-Arbaâiniya
Palestinians know this time of year as al-Arbaâiniya; the 40 coldest and harshest days of winter, commencing in late December and lasting until the end of January. It is the definite start of winter, the moment when the season shows its true power. Typically, it is faced with preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has no such defenses. The frost seeps through homes, streets are deserted and people merely survive.
But the danger of winter is far from theoretical. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, rescue operations retrieved the remains 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 weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. In recent days, a young child in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.
Fragile Shelters
Passing by the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Flimsy tarpaulins sagged under the weight of water, mattresses were adrift and clothes were perpetually moist, never fully drying. Each step highlighted how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to claiming life and health for countless individuals living in tents and packed sanctuaries.
A great number of these residents have already been forced from their homes, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has come to Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come lacking adequate housing, without electricity, lacking heat.
A Teacher's Anguish
In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather is a heavy burden. My students are not distant names; they are young people I speak to; smart, persistent, but extremely fatigued. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from packed rooms where privacy is impossible and connectivity unreliable. Countless learners have already experienced bereavement. Most have lost their homes. Yet they persist in learning. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it should not be required in this way.
In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practicesâprojects, due datesâbecome ethical dilemmas, shaped each day by concern for studentsâ safety, warmth and ability to find refuge.
During nights like these, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Is their shelter holding? Are they warm? Could the storm have shredded through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those still living in apartments, or what remains of them, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity scarce and fuel scarce, warmth comes primarily through bundling up and using any remaining covers. Despite this, cold nights are excruciating. How then those living in tents?
Political Failure
Reports indicate that over a million people in Gaza reside in temporary housing. Aid supplies, including insulated tents, have been insufficient. Amid the last tempest, relief groups reported delivering coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to thousands of families. For those affected, however, this assistance was often perceived as inconsistent and lacking, limited to band-aid measures that offered scant protection against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Shelters fail. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections associated with damp conditions are increasing.
This is not an unexpected catastrophe. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza view this crisis not as bad luck, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are frequently blocked. Grassroots projects have tried to improvise, to hand out tarps, yet they remain limited by what is allowed to enter. The failure is political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are prevented from arriving.
An Unnecessary Pain
What makes this suffering especially painful is how preventable it is. No one should have to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing surrounded by cold water inside a tent. No learner should dread the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how vulnerable survival is. It challenges health worn down by anxiety, fatigue, and loss.
The current cold season aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, represents warmth, refuge and care for the disadvantaged. In Palestine, that {symbolism
