đ Share this article During a Raging Storm, The Cries of Children in Tents Pierced the Night. This Marks Christmas in Gaza It was approximately 8:30 PM on a Thursday when I headed back home in Gaza City. Gusts of wind blew, forcing me inside any longer, so walking was my only option. In the beginning, it was just a gentle sprinkle, but after about 200 metres the rain intensified abruptly. This was expected. I paused beside a tent, rubbing my palms together to generate a little heat. A young boy had positioned himself selling baked goods. We exchanged a few words during my pause, though he didnât seem interested. I observed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, already soggy from the drizzle, and I questioned if heâd manage to sell them all before the night ended. A deep chill permeated the air. A Journey Through a Place of Tents As I walked along al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, just the noise of torrential rain and the moan of the wind. Quickening my pace, attempting to avoid the rain, I turned on my mobile phone's torch to light my way. My thoughts kept returning to those sheltering inside: What occupies them now? What thoughts fill their minds? What emotions do they hold? A severe chill gripped the air. I imagined children curled under damp covers, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm. As I unlocked the door to my apartment, the cold metal served as a understated yet stark reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these brutal winter climate. I walked into my apartment and was overwhelmed by the guilt of having a roof when a multitude remained unprotected to the storm. The Night Worsens As midnight passed, the storm reached its peak. Outside, makeshift covers on damaged glass billowed and tore, while metal sheets tore loose and fell with a clatter. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, piercing the darkness. I felt utterly powerless. During recent days, the rain has been unending. Cold, heavy, and driven by strong winds, it has soaked tents, inundated temporary settlements and turned the soil into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called âpoor conditionsâ. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment. Al-Arbaâiniya Locals call this time of year as al-Arbaâiniya; the 40 coldest and harshest 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 reveals its full force. Typically, it is endured with preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are deserted and people simply endure. But the threat posed by the cold is no longer abstract. On the Sunday morning before Christmas, recovery efforts retrieved the remains 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 remain missing. These structural failures are not new attacks, but the result of homes weakened by months of bombardment and ultimately defeated by winter rain. Not long ago, an infant in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold. Fragile Shelters Walking past the camp nearest my home, I witnessed the impact up close. Thin plastic sheets buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes were perpetually moist, incapable of drying. Each step reminded me how vulnerable these tents are 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 uprooted, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods razed. Winter has come to Gaza, but protection from it has not. It has come without proper shelter, in darkness, lacking heat. Students in the Storm In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not distant names; they are faces I recognize; smart, persistent, but profoundly exhausted. Most participate in digital sessions from tents; others from cramped quarters where solitude is unattainable and connectivity intermittent. Countless learners have already lost family members. Most have been rendered homeless. Yet they continue their education. Their resilience is extraordinary, but it should not be required in this way. In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practicesâprojects, due datesâtransform into ethical dilemmas, influenced daily by uncertainty about studentsâ security, heat and proximity to protection. During nights like these, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Is their shelter holding? Is there heat? Has the gale ripped through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is an absence of warmth. With electricity scarce and fuel scarce, warmth comes mainly from bundling up and using whatever blankets are left. Even so, cold nights are unbearable. What about those living in tents? The Humanitarian Shortfall Reports indicate that well over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including insulated tents, have been insufficient. When the cyclone hit, humanitarian partners reported providing plastic sheets, tents and mattresses to numerous households. 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 associated with damp conditions are on the upswing. This is not an surprise calamity. Winter is an annual event. People in Gaza understand this failure not as fate, but as abandonment. People speak of how critical supplies are restricted or delayed, while attempts to reinforce weakened structures are consistently hampered. Local initiatives have tried to make do, to provide coverings, yet they remain limited by what is allowed to enter. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Solutions exist, but are prevented from arriving. An Unnecessary Pain The factor that intensifies this hardship especially painful is how unnecessary it should be. No individual ought 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 tests bodies worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief. The current cold season occurs alongside the Christmas season that, for millions, symbolises warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism