Winter is the season of dreamers and poets. Every year I eagerly awaited walking in the rain and falling asleep to the sound of raindrops tapping on the window. This time of year was particularly special and charming in coastal Gaza City, even more so in the Tal Al-Hawa neighborhood where I used to live before the war, close to the sea.

The first rainfall of winter would bring great joy to my heart. Hearing someone say “Winter is coming” filled me with happiness. The season was painted with a palette of dark, rich hues of brown, red, and purple. Winter meant family gatherings, barbecues, hot chocolate on cold nights, and, most importantly, salep, a warming winter drink of milk, sugar, rosewater, and starch, sometimes with honey, almonds, and pistachios added to the mix.

We love Eastern desserts like basbousa (semolina cake) and sweet orange cake. But in particular, Palestinians like knafeh, a confection of spun pastry, soaked in a sweet, sugar-based syrup, and layered with cheese or clotted cream. Knafeh tasted especially delicious in winter.

Winter meant listening to Fairuz on my headphones while walking through the university square in the rain to meet my friends at a cozy cafe in Gaza City, where we enjoyed musical evenings together. In January, it meant wrapping up in a warm kaffiyeh to take my final exams at university.

A lovely memory of winter rain

My twin sister, Amal, and I stepped outside one windy day to walk through the streets of Tal Al-Hawa. The lovely scent of rain suffused the air. We headed to the Gaza City promenade, where we watched the strong winds and high waves, an endlessly fascinating winter view that cleared my mind before we headed back home to our warm family haven.

When it poured heavily and the rain froze on the way down, we captured images of the street, pictures of delicate snowflakes falling on the ground.

I cherish such moments, memories of my home and loving family. Nothing is more comforting than a warm home filled with equally warm feelings.

I cannot imagine these treasures are gone.

Before winter arrived, I prepared by purchasing a new wardrobe: coat, shoes, sweaters, and most importantly, books to read during winter holidays. Last October I bought a huge number of books in anticipation of many pleasurable hours reading and dreaming.

But I never got to curl up on a cozy sofa to read them.

Winter turns treacherous

When the sudden war started in October 2023 and we were forced to leave home, I didn’t take my books or any clothes, assuming I’d return before winter. All I could do was quickly scan my wardrobe before heading out. I had meticulously planned out the season in its entirety, but the planning proved in vain.

Winter arrived suddenly, bringing along its icy cold. We found ourselves in a bleak, colorless place, pondering where the warm colors we cherished had disappeared to. Cold rain fell on us as we slept, for there were neither windows nor doors to shield us. We resorted to frigid water that stung the skin and froze the bones; there was no source of heat to be found.

We all had enjoyed eating together, especially during winter. We used to order burgers or prepare fettuccine with chicken, savoring both Western and Arabic dishes, along with many fruits. The food gave us energy and kept our bodies warm.

But this is a war of starvation. We are living in a genocide and one sinister way of perpetrating it is to destroy the food supply. From October to December, the Gaza Strip was under complete siege; no food was allowed in; securing even a single meal a day was a challenge.

I sat on the floor, struggling to keep warm without winter clothes and unable to move due to the bitter cold, I endured the winter months feeling unwell and becoming thin of body and spirit. Memories of my warm bed and soft woolen blankets and scarves filled my thoughts. I dearly wished I could return there, even for just a day. But the days turned into months.

The Israeli occupation continues to torment us in every possible way: They blockade us, deny us food, and worsen the famine. They assault us psychologically, intimidate us with repeated evacuation orders, and have blocked the entry of any clothing for an entire year.

Winter is the most unbearable part of this war for me.

Rain has a new meaning

Now when I hear the sound of rain, my mind invariably shifts to the displaced families in tents. Rain no longer brings sweet smells and shiny streets; it seeps into the tents, leaving the people wet and their belongings soaked, with nowhere else to go and no choice but to wait for the rain to stop. A strong storm poses even greater risks. There is a high likelihood of tents being torn, damaged, or toppled, turning what is already hardship into catastrophe.

The worst part is that none of us can stay warm. Living in a tent is as if we were just out in the open. Parents use nylon bags to cover their children while they sleep in an attempt to keep them dry and protect them from getting sick. I’m not the only one lacking winter clothes: All Gazan families have had to leave their homes and all their belongings behind under threat of shooting or bombing.

After a whole year of war, winter is coming again but I don’t anticipate it with any joy. The thought of enduring another harsh winter frightens me terribly. I refuse to go through the same hardships and suffering again. Does the world forget that we, as families, once had homes that protected us from the harshness of winter, warm clothes to wrap ourselves in, food to sustain us, and heat sources to keep us warm?

I long for the warmth of our home, now destroyed. I wish for all families to return to their warm homes, all destroyed.

For the first time, I dread the arrival of winter and wish it would stay away.