WINTER should bring comfort — a time for families to gather, share stories, and enjoy life’s small joys as rain taps gently on the windows. In Gaza, it was once a cherished season, a pause from the sweltering heat of summer, a time for soup bubbling on stoves and children laughing under thick blankets.

But Gaza’s winters are no longer seasons of comfort. They are seasons of survival.

When we were first displaced, the thought of winter seemed distant. We left our homes believing we’d return in days, packing little more than the clothes on our backs. Now, winter has arrived, and with it, a sharp realisation: there is no returning home.

The rain, once a soothing sound, now leaks through tents that cannot hold back the cold. Families huddle in soaked shelters, clutching wet blankets and shivering as the wind tears through fraying fabrics.

Gaza’s chance of a quiet winter has been drowned out by the sound of genocide, grief, and disbelief. Wintery nostalgia has been replaced by all-consuming fear, devastating loss, and an unyielding resilience, colder and more biting than any winter frost.

A season of despair
 
The Israeli occupation has transformed my once-beloved season into an unending nightmare. Last winter, the skies did not bring hope but unleashed a torrent of death. Jets roared like thunder as bombs rained down, forming vast puddles of devastation and blood across the land.

In a heartbeat, in a moment, the warmth and safety of our home disappeared, swallowed by chaos and destruction. The air grew colder, and the Israeli strikes only became more relentless. We had no choice but to flee, leaving everything behind, moving from one shelter to the next. The rain poured down on us, soaking our clothes as explosions roared all around.

We escaped with nothing but the clothes we were wearing. The constant hum of drones and the piercing screech of fighter jets drowned our thoughts. There was no time to gather food, no opportunity to take warm clothing or blankets. Immediate survival has become our only focus.
 
Last winter was miserable, but this year is far worse. Of all the horrors I have endured, nothing compares to freezing nights spent inside a tent — rain pierced our tent, the chill was unyielding. My fingers froze, refusing to move as I rubbed them together in vain, longing for warmth.
 
When last winter ended, there was a brief moment of relief … but the genocide continued, its grip tightening with each passing day. Now, another winter is setting in. Many still had partial shelter then, but after a year of genocide, no homes remain. Entire neighbourhoods in Gaza are gone. Once safe spaces like community centres, homes, and clinics are destroyed, leaving families exposed with nowhere to turn.
 
Life in Gaza’s flooded camps
 
Flooded tents, freezing nights, and illnesses have become part of daily life in Gaza’s camps. With no homes, limited aid, and freezing conditions, the pressing question is: how can anyone survive this?
 
Mohammed Alladaa, 30, is a father of three children, including a one-year-old daughter, and lives in a tent on the beach in Deir al-Balah. On November 23, he spent the night in soaking wet clothing, holding his infant daughter to protect her from the water.
 
The same week rainstorms hit Gaza, Mohammed’s family tent was flooded. He and hundreds of other families sought refuge by the coast two months ago, after the latest wave of displacement from Khan Younis and Rafah.
 
“We have drowned,” Mohammed said with despair. “The children, the clothes, the mattresses — everything is soaked.” He added: “My kids have nothing dry to wear. What can I dress them in now?”
 
Abu Firas Al Jerjawi, 54, who lives with his family in their partially destroyed home in northern Gaza, says: “The cold is merciless. We suffer from constant colds and flu.” He adds: “The nights are unbearably cold; I feel as if the chill pierces through my bones.“
 
These stories echo across Gaza, where nearly 2 million people live in shelters unsuitable for winter. Fragile tents and crumbling buildings offer no refuge. With little aid, families face a brutal choice: endure the cold or risk venturing out into the open.
 
A struggle for survival
 
Winter, once seen as a season of relief in Gaza, is poised to transform into a life-threatening adversary, risking increased fatalities and illnesses without immediate intervention. The displaced endure combined hardships of genocide, siege, displacement and severe winter conditions.

Exposure to cold without medication, shelter and hygiene products exacerbates the risk of respiratory infections and illnesses, especially among children.
 
On September 14, Gaza’s government media office issued a report warning of the worsening conditions for displaced residents as winter approaches. The report documented the existence of 543 shelters and displacement centres across the Gaza Strip.
 
The report also revealed that 74 per cent of existing tents are no longer suitable for use, with government field assessments showing that 100,000 out of 135,000 tents require immediate replacement due to extreme wear and tear. Most of these shelters are made from fragile materials, including plastic and fraying fabrics.
 
Standing in solidarity with Gaza this winter
 
The International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People on November 29 highlights Gaza’s plight, with calls for global action demanding accountability from governments, severing ties, disrupting military funding, and advocating for human rights.
 
As December approaches, the harsh winter in Gaza tests residents’ resilience. Despite the adversity, hope remains for collective action and warmth. The struggle for justice in Gaza demands global attention, and the world must stand in solidarity for a warm, humane winter.
 
Winter in Gaza is no longer a season of quiet reflection; it is a test of global humanity. Every effort, from political advocacy to public awareness, contributes to a growing movement that demands justice and accountability.

As the cold intensifies, Gaza’s winter becomes a stark reminder of a world that has failed to uphold its responsibility to protect the vulnerable. The suffering endured by displaced families is not just a humanitarian crisis — it is a consequence of ongoing occupation and systemic injustice.