During a Fierce Tempest, The Cries of Children in Tents Pierced the Night. This is Christmas in Gaza
The clock read around 8:30 PM on a weekday evening when I made my way home in Gaza City. The wind howled, forcing me inside any longer, so walking was my only option. In the beginning, it was only a light drizzle, but a short distance later the rain intensified abruptly. That wasnât surprising. I paused beside a tent, rubbing my palms together to draw some warmth. A young boy was sitting outside selling homemade cookies. We spoke briefly as I waited, though he didnât seem interested. I noticed the cookies were poorly packaged in plastic, moist from the drizzle, and I questioned if heâd manage to sell them all before the night ended. The cold seeped into everything.
A Trek Through a Landscape of Tents
While traversing al-Wehda Street in Gaza City, makeshift shelters crowded both sides of the road. No sounds of conversation came from inside them, merely the din of falling water and the moan of the wind. As I hurried on, trying to dodge the rain, I switched on my mobile phone's torch to illuminate the path. I couldn't stop thinking to those huddled within: How are they passing the time now? What is their state of mind? What are they experiencing? The cold was piercing. I imagined children huddled under soaked bedding, parents moving restlessly to keep them warm.
Upon opening the door to my apartment, the freezing handle served as a understated yet stark reminder of the suffering faced across Gaza in these severe cold season. I walked into my apartment and couldn't shake the guilt of possessing shelter when countless others faced exposure to the storm.
The Night Escalates
In the middle of the night, the storm intensified. Outside, plastic sheeting on shattered windows billowed and tore, while corrugated metal tore loose and slammed down. Above it all came the sharp, panicked screams of children, shattering the darkness. I felt utterly powerless.
For the last fortnight, the rain has been unending. Chilly, dense, and propelled by strong winds, it has drenched shelters, swamped refugee areas and turned bare earth into mud. Elsewhere, this might be called âinclement weatherâ. In Gaza, it is lived with exposure and abandonment.
Al-Arbaâiniya
Residents refer to 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 definite start of winter, the moment when the season unleashes its intensity. Typically, it is endured with preparation and shelter. Currently, Gaza has neither. The cold bites through homes, streets are empty and people merely survive.
But the danger of winter is now very real. On the Sunday morning 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 structural failures are not caused by ongoing hostilities, but the result of homes weakened by months of bombardment and succumbing to winter rain. Earlier this month, a young child in Khan Younis succumbed to exposure to the cold.
Precarious Existence
Walking past the camp nearest my home, I observed the results up close. Flimsy tarpaulins buckled beneath the weight of water, mattresses bobbed in water and clothes hung damply, incapable of drying. Each step reinforced how precarious these dwellings are and how close the rain and cold came to taking life and health for hundreds of thousands living in tents and packed sanctuaries.
Most of these people have already been displaced, many several times over. Homes are gone. Neighbourhoods flattened. Winter has descended upon Gaza, but defense against it has not. It has come without proper shelter, in darkness, lacking heat.
The Weight on Education
In my role as a professor in Gaza, this weather causes deep concern. My students are not mere statistics; they are individuals I know; intelligent, determined, but deeply weary. Most join virtual lessons from tents; others from overcrowded shelters where personal space doesn't exist and connectivity sporadic. A significant number of pupils have already lost family members. Most have lost their homes. Yet they still try to study. Their fortitude is remarkable, but it should not be required in this way.
In Gaza, what would usually be routine academic practicesâtasks, schedulesâturn into moral negotiations, dictated every moment by anxiety over studentsâ safety, warmth and proximity to protection.
On evenings such as this, I am constantly preoccupied about them. Are they dry? Is there heat? Did the wind tear through their shelter as they attempted to rest? For those residing in apartments, or what remains of them, there is no heating. With electricity mostly absent and fuel in short supply, warmth comes primarily through donning extra clothing and using whatever blankets are left. Despite this, cold nights are unbearable. What, then those living in tents?
Political Failure
Agencies state that over a million people in Gaza exist in makeshift accommodations. Relief items, including insulated tents, have been insufficient. Amid the last tempest, relief groups reported distributing coverings, shelters and sleeping materials to a multitude of people. For those affected, however, this assistance was frequently felt to be inconsistent and lacking, limited to band-aid measures that did little against prolonged exposure to cold, wind and rain. Tents collapse. Respiratory illnesses, hypothermia, and infections linked to damp conditions are increasing.
This goes beyond an unforeseen disaster. Winter arrives cyclically. People in Gaza interpret this shortcoming not as misfortune, but as neglect. People speak of how necessary items are hindered or postponed, while attempts to fix broken houses are consistently hampered. Community efforts have tried to improvise, to provide coverings, yet they are still constrained by what is allowed to enter. The culpability lies in political and humanitarian. Answers are available, but are withheld.
A Symbolic Season
The factor that intensifies this hardship especially painful is how preventable it is. It is unconscionable to study, raise children, or battle sickness standing ankle-deep in cold water inside a tent. No student should fear the rain damaging their precious phone. Rain exposes just how fragile life has become. It challenges health worn down by stress, exhaustion, and grief.
This winter aligns with the Christmas season that, for millions, epitomizes warmth, refuge and care for the neediest. In Palestine, that {symbolism
