There are moments in a rock star’s life that define who he is. Where there was no darkness, there was no you. And it’s going to be a wild ride.
— Rocketman (2019) dir. Dexter Fletcher
Nearly all teachers I worked with habitually excuse Hitler
Nearly all teachers I worked with habitually excuse Hitler
As an assistant teacher for 16 years, I encountered numerous examples of antisemitism being taught — sometimes unknowingly — in England’s classrooms. Nearly all of the teachers I encountered had uncritically absorbed antisemitic tropes at their universities and teacher training colleges, much of it dressed up as “anti-Zionism”.
For instance, Year Sevens are taught about the Black Death in RE, a lesson I often observed. Children were nearly always told that the Jews were blamed at the time for the plague, but this was rarely presented as an example of an antisemitic falsehood. Indeed, the teachers usually left open the question of whether the Jews really were responsible.
That meant that when the children were taught about the Holocaust in Year Nine, it was not uncommon for children to respond by saying, “But Sir! The Jews DID give us the Plague though… ‘coz you said so in Year Seven!”
For instance, Year Nines are often taught about the Holocaust in the context of why the Jews have been hated throughout history. But unless carefully presented, this “context” can often seem like an apology for Nazism, as if the Jews did something to deserve their misfortune.
Nearly all the teachers I have worked with who were born in the 1980s habitually excuse Hitler and undermine the unique historical horror of the Holocaust. The usual response to Hitler’s genocidal antisemitism is to explain that it was not just the Jews. Others suffered too. In the interests of “balance”, the teachers often point out that Hitler did good things as well as bad — he created jobs and made Germany great again, for instance.
When I suggested to a teacher that we first talk about the positive influences of Judaism before introducing the Holocaust, she dismissed it on the grounds that “learning how successful they are might irritate some people”.
In GCSE History, antisemitism often slithers into students’ subconscious in ramshackle debates about the aftermath of the First World War. “You can understand why the German people were so angry with the Jews after the First World War, because if you fought in the trenches, lost your jobs and your businesses and you saw that the Jews were having an easier time of it, you’d be angry too,” explained one teacher, helpfully.
Because, of course, German Jews did not fight in the trenches, German Jews did not lose their savings, their jobs and their businesses. So, all Jews are cowards, all Jews are rich, all Jews have no right to get angry.
Visiting a school as a guest speaker once, I tried to explain to some teachers in the staff room how ridiculous Jewish stereotypes were. They immediately launched into a tirade about the “arrogant Jewish princesses” they had encountered growing up who got everything they wanted on “Daddy’s money”. A self-professed ‘lefty’ even complained that a street near her university was “wall to wall Jewish businesses”. One of these teachers boasted to me that she had taught the whole Holocaust ‘module’ without showing “one of those atrocity pictures once”. When I relayed this to a Jewish friend whose mother survived Ravensbruck, he said, “How can people know how bad it was without showing them how bad it was?” This same teacher, who claimed the Holocaust was “absolutely fascinating”, whispered to me, “we have to ask this question” and, instead of saying it aloud, wrote it down on her planner and showed it to me: Did they deserve it?
I was shocked. Do we ask this question about the Middle Passage? Do we ask it about the victims of 9/11? We do not. Incidentally, she had already taught her students about Israel and why its existence was so “controversial” and, as she explained to me, that’s why the desert question had to be asked. In her brain, the Holocaust and Israel had somehow become chronologically juxtaposed, with the foundation of the state of Israel in 1948 somehow causing the murder of six million Jews by the Nazis.
Alas, this kind of prejudice is not confined to the state sector. A young acquaintance of mine who attends a posh private school told me his history teacher joked that “Jews won’t fight” after he was asked if Jews had fought in the First World War. I armed the pupil with facts: the Roman Legion Regi Emeseni Iudeai; Cleopatra’s two generals; how, in the First World War, Jews were the largest ethnic group to fight for either side; how Anne Frank’s father, as well as the young lieutenant who awarded Hitler his Iron Cross, had fought for Germany. The boy told the class, the teacher smirked and said, “Well, you learn something new every day.” Maybe so, but very rarely do you learn anything about antisemitism from teachers.
Nearly all teachers I worked with habitually excuse Hitler
Nearly all teachers I worked with habitually excuse Hitler
As an assistant teacher for 16 years, I encountered numerous examples of antisemitism being taught — sometimes unknowingly — in England’s classrooms. Nearly all of the teachers I encountered had uncritically absorbed antisemitic tropes at their universities and teacher training colleges, much of it dressed up as “anti-Zionism”.
For instance, Year Sevens are taught about the Black Death in RE, a lesson I often observed. Children were nearly always told that the Jews were blamed at the time for the plague, but this was rarely presented as an example of an antisemitic falsehood. Indeed, the teachers usually left open the question of whether the Jews really were responsible.
That meant that when the children were taught about the Holocaust in Year Nine, it was not uncommon for children to respond by saying, “But Sir! The Jews DID give us the Plague though… ‘coz you said so in Year Seven!”
For instance, Year Nines are often taught about the Holocaust in the context of why the Jews have been hated throughout history. But unless carefully presented, this “context” can often seem like an apology for Nazism, as if the Jews did something to deserve their misfortune.
Nearly all the teachers I have worked with who were born in the 1980s habitually excuse Hitler and undermine the unique historical horror of the Holocaust. The usual response to Hitler’s genocidal antisemitism is to explain that it was not just the Jews. Others suffered too. In the interests of “balance”, the teachers often point out that Hitler did good things as well as bad — he created jobs and made Germany great again, for instance.
When I suggested to a teacher that we first talk about the positive influences of Judaism before introducing the Holocaust, she dismissed it on the grounds that “learning how successful they are might irritate some people”.
In GCSE History, antisemitism often slithers into students’ subconscious in ramshackle debates about the aftermath of the First World War. “You can understand why the German people were so angry with the Jews after the First World War, because if you fought in the trenches, lost your jobs and your businesses and you saw that the Jews were having an easier time of it, you’d be angry too,” explained one teacher, helpfully.
Because, of course, German Jews did not fight in the trenches, German Jews did not lose their savings, their jobs and their businesses. So, all Jews are cowards, all Jews are rich, all Jews have no right to get angry.
Visiting a school as a guest speaker once, I tried to explain to some teachers in the staff room how ridiculous Jewish stereotypes were. They immediately launched into a tirade about the “arrogant Jewish princesses” they had encountered growing up who got everything they wanted on “Daddy’s money”. A self-professed ‘lefty’ even complained that a street near her university was “wall to wall Jewish businesses”. One of these teachers boasted to me that she had taught the whole Holocaust ‘module’ without showing “one of those atrocity pictures once”. When I relayed this to a Jewish friend whose mother survived Ravensbruck, he said, “How can people know how bad it was without showing them how bad it was?” This same teacher, who claimed the Holocaust was “absolutely fascinating”, whispered to me, “we have to ask this question” and, instead of saying it aloud, wrote it down on her planner and showed it to me: Did they deserve it?
I was shocked. Do we ask this question about the Middle Passage? Do we ask it about the victims of 9/11? We do not. Incidentally, she had already taught her students about Israel and why its existence was so “controversial” and, as she explained to me, that’s why the desert question had to be asked. In her brain, the Holocaust and Israel had somehow become chronologically juxtaposed, with the foundation of the state of Israel in 1948 somehow causing the murder of six million Jews by the Nazis.
Alas, this kind of prejudice is not confined to the state sector. A young acquaintance of mine who attends a posh private school told me his history teacher joked that “Jews won’t fight” after he was asked if Jews had fought in the First World War. I armed the pupil with facts: the Roman Legion Regi Emeseni Iudeai; Cleopatra’s two generals; how, in the First World War, Jews were the largest ethnic group to fight for either side; how Anne Frank’s father, as well as the young lieutenant who awarded Hitler his Iron Cross, had fought for Germany. The boy told the class, the teacher smirked and said, “Well, you learn something new every day.” Maybe so, but very rarely do you learn anything about antisemitism from teachers.
Random Sad/Happy Post-Return of the King Headcanons
- Sam on no less then three separate royal feasts has accidentally called Aragorn Strider mid-conversation. Aragorn loves it while often times the gathered nobles are aghast.
- On every royal visit North, Aragorn makes sure that the entire royal retinue stops in Bree where he spends the night at the Pony, enjoying Butterbur’s ale and hearing the concerns and good fortunes of the Bree-folk. Butterbur is always flustered when Aragorn speaks of him in high esteem to the gathered nobles.
- When Elboron begins taking an interest in swordplay, Faramir leaves a good portion of his training to Eowyn. With a sword, Elboron looks too similar to a young Boromir and Faramir has a hard time with that.
- The dwarves and elves who come to craft in Minas Tirith strike up a competition to see who craft/grow the fairest things in the city. This brings prosperity to the city before Aragorn declares Arwen the winner upon the birth of their eldest child, a daughter. On seeing the little princess, the elves and dwarves happily agree.
- Sam is deathly afraid of spiders, always grasping at his hip for Sting whenever he sees one scuttle away.
- A few years after the War of the Ring, two old men, garbed in eastern styled robes of blue, pass through the Shire one night heading west. Sam hears mutterings outside Bag End and peaks out a window. The two figures stand where Saruman was killed, both shaking their heads. They then continue West and are never heard from again.
- Merry’s son Holdwine, and Pippin’s son, Faramir, both travel into the Old Forest in search of Bombadil as an adventure of their own. When they get to where they believe the house should be, all that is there is a sturdy green hill with bright blue flowers growing on top and a stream running beside it, covered in water-lilies.
- The Rohirrim of Helm’s Deep and the dwarves of Aglarond become such close friends that some often refer to the men as “The Southern Dale-folk”. Rohirrim in other parts see them and their friendship as quite odd.
- Eowyn would often travel with Aragorn and Eomer’s armies south and east to provide healing to both friends and foes after a battle. She favored disguising herself as Dernhelm often and would save injured men from the heat of battle. Legends among the Easterlings sprout of a “goddess of mercy” who appears as a charging foe only to ride off with them to safety and tend their wounds before returning to battle.
- After days of political dinners, balls, campaigns, and kingly duties, sometimes Aragorn will wrap himself in his old Ranger’s clothes, put his hood up, and sneak from the city to wander in the Ithilien woods. Sometimes tracking dangerous wildlife or even wayward orcs. Any who come across him only know him by the name “Strider” and often unknowingly share a meal outdoors with their king.
I might add more as time goes on.
Lovely, and very sound head-canon. May I add?
Celeborn stays in Lorien until Arwen comes to die. Only then does he build a boat and go with the last few elves down the river to the sea. He feels it’s his way of saying “I’m sorry” to The Walkers for ever having doubted any of them (especially Gimli).
OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIM
There are so many cute things on my dash tonight and I am delighted.












