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autismserenity · 22 days

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A Chabad synagogue in Pomona, New York, burned to the ground on April 17th, along with its three Torah scrolls.

Torah scrolls are hand-written, hand-made, and kept in elaborately decorated cases or wrappings.

Many of them have long histories; my synagogue has two, I think, that were smuggled out of villages being destroyed in pogroms or in Nazi attacks. One of them is the only remaining piece of that village on earth.

Sometimes, the Torah scroll doesn't even belong to the synagogue, but is on loan from a place like the Memorial Scrolls Trust:

There's an entire Jewish holiday just for taking them out and dancing with them: Simchat Torah, "The Joy of Torah."

In fact, that was the holiday on which Hamas's invasion took place.

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So it's a particular tragedy when a Torah is destroyed.

Chabad itself has a page about what goes into making just one Torah scroll:

"An authentic Torah scroll is a mind-boggling masterpiece of labor and skill. Comprising between 62 and 84 sheets of parchment -- cured, tanned, scraped and prepared according to exacting Torah law specifications -- and containing exactly 304,805 letters, the resulting handwritten scroll takes many months to complete.

"An expert pious scribe carefully inks each letter with a feather quill, under the intricate calligraphic guidelines of Ktav Ashurit (Ashurite Script). The sheets of parchment are then sewn together with sinews to form one long scroll. While most Torah scrolls stand around two feet in height and weigh 20-25 pounds, some are huge and quite heavy, while others are doll-sized and lightweight."

I learned all of this on Tumblr.

Once upon time, in people's "punch Nazis" days, I would've been able to find some mention on Tumblr of this synagogue burning.

There is none, so I'm posting about it.

And I'm going to quote Daniel Weiner, Rabbi of Temple de Hirsch Sinai in Bellevue, Washington, when his own synagogue was vandalized last November:

"It’s horrific and heartbreaking.... [Taking out your feelings about] what's going on in the Middle East by defacing a sacred space of a synagogue -- that’s the very definition of antisemitism."

I'm also posting about the Kehillat Shaarei Torah Synagogue in Toronto, whose windows were broken on Friday, April 19th, by someone who also tried to break the front door down.

And the April 15 graffiti outside a Bangor, Maine synagogue that said, "Nazi Israel 30K murdered," next to a crossed-out Star of David. The same synagogue faced pro-Hamas flyers plastered around it in November.

I was going to include all the synagogues vandalized over the past six months. But there are way too many. Several every week. Lots are swastikas.

I'll go back to just doing attacks on and near synagogues.

Someone has to talk about the 1-year-old who was stabbed outside Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel (BZBI) synagogue, in Philadelphia, on April 13th.

The foiled terrorist attack on a Moscow synagogue on April 11th.

The man who, on April 9th, screamed at the rabbi at Moldova's Great Synagogue, "What are you doing here? How come no one has finished you off for everything you are doing to the Palestinians?" Just one week after people had vandalized a Holocaust memorial in nearby Soroka, and sprayed "Free Palestine" on it.

The Oldenburg, Germany synagogue that was firebombed on April 5th.

The Florida Las Olas Chabad Jewish Center, which on March 16 burned, but not to the ground. The Torah scrolls were safe, and no one was hurt, but the back of the building was severely damaged.

The planned-but-thwarted-on-March-7th ISIS massacre in a Moscow synagogue.

The stabbing of an Orthodox Jew in Switzerland on March 5th. (He was badly injured, but expected to survive.)

A man leaving a synagogue in Paris was beaten on March 3rd.

People set the courtyard of a synagogue in Sfax, Tunisia on fire on February 27th. Firefighters managed to put the fire out before it consumed the inside of the building.

The synagogue is no longer used; there are no Jews left in its area, and fewer than 1,000 Jews left in Tunisia overall.

(Thousands of Tunisian Jews were sent to work camps during the Holocaust. Antisemitism across the Middle East continued to increase rapidly for decades. By the 1970s, 90% of Tunisian Jews had fled to France or Israel.)

On February 18, an Orthodox Jew leaving Synagogue of Inverrary-Chabad in Lauderhill, Florida, was beaten by an attacker yelling racial slurs.

Someone deliberately chose International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, to smash all the windows in the front of Sgoolai Israel Synagogue in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick.

On December 29, Turkey arrested 32 people linked to ISIS who were planning attacks on synagogues and churches.

On December 17, a man drove a U-Haul truck up onto the sidewalk between a barrier and the front door of the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington D.C., got out, and started yelling "Gas the Jews." He also sprayed a foul-smelling substance on two people leaving the synagogue.

December 17 also saw 400 synagogues across the United States receive bomb threats.

On December 11, a man attacked an elderly couple on their way into a synagogue in Los Angeles, screaming, "Give me your earrings, Jew!!" and beating one of them bloody with a belt. (Happily, he chased the guy down the street, and caught him when his pants fell down.)

On December 10, a 16-year-old was arrested in Vienna for planning an attack on a synagogue.

On December 8, on the first night of Hanukkah, 15 synagogues in New York State received bomb threats. And someone screamed, "Free Palestine," and fired shots outside of Temple Israel in Albany, NY. Which has a preschool that was in session.

Meanwhile, the five Jews left in Egypt were canceling public Hanukkah candle-lighting at their synagogue out of fear of reprisals. Particularly after two Israelis in Alexandria had been gunned down by terrorists on October 8. (While Israel was still fighting Hamas in Israel.)

On November 15, a terrorist group set the only synagogue in Armenia on fire.

Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA) has a history of working with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP).

(PFLP is part of Hamas's network of groups. Samidoun is their nonprofit arm - which is why Germany banned Samidoun last year, although it's still active in many other countries.

PFLP is also actively supported by the Palestinian Youth Movement (PYM), a diaspora nonprofit group, and Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an SJP spinoff in NYC.)

On November 11, halfway through Shabbat services, police asked Central Shul in Melbourne, Australia to evacuate "as a precaution" due to a "pro-Palestinian" protest that had chosen the neighboring park as its gathering place. Australia has seen some very outspoken antisemitism at protests, including the march shortly after October 7 that chanted "Gas the Jews."

Also on November 11, protesters targeted a synagogue along a march route. They sat in their cars, spraying green smoke and shouting at people leaving the synagogue. The march itself featured a record number of horrifying signs and chants.

On November 7th, Congregation Beth Tikvah in Montreal was firebombed, and the back door of the Jewish organization across the street (Federation CJA) was set on fire.

On November 4, protesters chanted "Bomb Israel," and burned an Israeli flag outside the only synagogue in Malmo, Sweden.

During October, there were 501 antisemitic acts under investigation in France in just three weeks, including groups gathering in front of synagogues shouting threats, and graffiti such as the words “killing Jews is a duty” sprayed outside a stadium.

On October 18, people firebombed a synagogue in Berlin after homes all over the neighborhood were graffitied with stars of David.

And also on October 18, hundreds of "pro-Palestine" rioters attacked the Or Zaruah Synagogue, in the Spanish enclave of Melilla in North Africa, while worshippers were inside.

Based on the video, they seem to have blocked the synagogue entrance completely, while screaming "Murderous Israel" and waving Palestinian flags. (Melilla is an autonomous zone belonging to Spain. It borders Morocco.)

On October 17, during pro-Palestinian protests, hundreds of rioters set fire to Al Hammah synagogue, an abandoned house of prayer in central Tunisia. They hammered down the building’s walls and raised a Palestinian flag on the building. Police did not intervene.

The Facebook page "Tunigate", which has around 88 thousand followers, published a video of the assault. So did "Radio Bousalem”, with 83 thousand users. The vast majority of comments on these videos welcome these acts. The building was severely damaged and almost completely razed to the ground.

On October 15, bomb threats were sent to many East Coast synagogues. Attleboro synagogue Congregation Agudas-Achim received one of the emails, which read, "The bombs will blow up in a few hours. A lot of people will die. You all deserve to die."

On October 8 -- again, while Hamas was still in Israel -- Madrid’s main synagogue was defaced with graffiti that read “Free Palestine” next to a crossed-out Star of David.

And on October 7, an assailant in Rockland, NY fired a BB gun at two women entering a synagogue. Later in the month, a banner at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in the area was vandalized with the words, “Fuckin kikes."

#if you have used “Free Palestine” as if it's a sort of verbal assault you can shout in comments or scribble over flyers #if you are unwilling to hear what the Jewish term Zionism means to the people who use it #if you cannot name one Palestinian human rights activist #and most of all if you don't know how Hamas abuses Palestinians and you still think it's The Resistance #then you. are. the. problem.#if you don't know people in gaza have been protesting Hamas and blaming it for deliberately instigating a war they don't want #if you don't know how often they've spoken out about Hamas stealing aid and selling it to them #and especially if you don't want to believe me much less find Palestinians in Gaza to listen to #also if you didn't know about any of the stuff in this post BUT you have taken it upon yourself to tell Jews that “it's not antisemitism”#like seriously everyone deal with your learned distrust of Jews challenge #wall of words #fire tw #guns tw #violence tw #Instagram

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probablyasocialecologist · 6 months

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As a Jew, I have felt completely alienated by the community that purports to represent me. In my earliest childhood memories, I recall family members, Hebrew School teachers, and religious leaders telling me about the many promises of the state of Israel: a safe home for all Jews, a place – I was told – where we made the desert bloom. From as early as I can remember, I was taught by my family members and Hebrew School teachers that Jews need Israel because of the devastating losses during the Holocaust and enduring antisemitism. I went to Hebrew School three days a week, and remember feeling almost-constantly panicked about the potential for another Holocaust. The message was painfully clear: everyone hates Jews, and that’s why we need Israel. There was so much about Jewish history and culture I never learned in Hebrew School: our working-class roots and deep commitment to the labor and socialist movements both in Eastern Europe and in the U.S.; Sephardic and Mizrahi culture and customs; the history of Yiddish; even the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. And of course, left out of most American Jewish education are the violent origins of the Jewish state: Israel’s dispossession and mass slaughter of Palestinians in 1948. The land on which Israel was built was not a barren desert made fertile by Jewish refugees and immigrants, but the Palestinians’ homeland, inhabited for millennia. When I began to learn the truth – that Israel violently expelled almost 1 million Palestinians to create the state of Israel – I felt completely shocked, and deeply betrayed by the adults whom I had trusted. It seemed – and I now know with certainty that it is – antithetical to Jewish values. Since I first learned about the Nakba, I’ve regularly felt alone in my religious community. There’s an assumption – from both the Jewish community and society at-large – that because we are Jews, we are also Zionists. Yet, so much of my political compass – including my commitment to anti-Zionism, actually comes from what I’ve learned from being a Jew. The same Hebrew school teachers who instructed me to love Israel also taught me Jewish songs like Olam Chesed Yibaneh (we will build this world with love) and Lo Yisa Goy (nation shall not lift up sword against nation). Israel’s occupation of Palestine and its subjugation of Palestians contradicts these Jewish tenets, yet in a majority of American Jewish communities, those of us who oppose Israeli colonialism are treated as traitors. It’s been confusing to feel both deeply connected to Judaism and Jewish values, and to also be told repeatedly by Jews and Zionists that I’m a self-hating Jew. It often makes me feel like I have no safe religious home. The only times I’ve felt like I’m free to practice my religion as an anti-Zionist, and to proudly declare that I’m an anti-Zionist because I’m Jewish, are when I’ve taken action with Jewish Voice for Peace, an anti-Zionist, Jewish organization that stands in solidarity with Palestinians.

#israel #palestine #zionism #antizionism #settler colonialism

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matan4il · 4 months

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(non-jew here) I just realized that Holocaust Remembrance Day is this Saturday and I'm not looking forward to the pro-hamas idiots trying to make it all about Palestine and attacking Jewish people for daring to mourn while they are "killing Palestinians" (ignoring that practically 99% of Jewish people have little to no control over Palestine but that doesn't matter to antisemites because because all Jews are responsible for what's going on in Gaza in their minds)

Hi Nonnie!

(I'm scheduling this to post on the aforementioned day)

Oh, trust me. The appropriation and inversion of the memory of the Holocaust, in order to use it as an attack against the right of Jews to self defence (which is basically the right of Jews to live) has to be one of the most vile things I've ever seen. It's a loss of shame and morals on a level I can't comprehend.

But in a way, it had to happen. Those who want a second genocide of the Jews HAVE to dismantle the biggest protection that Jews have today, which is the Jewish state. Now, Israel doesn't exist "thanks" to the Holocaust. It exists because Jews are native to Israel, and our religion and heritage have dictated never giving up on our homeland, and it exists "thanks" to the Nazis's failure during the Holocaust to eradicate every last single Jew. Israel exists in spite of the Holocaust. But the Holocaust DOES provide the ultimate proof of why the existence of a Jewish state, to shelter all Jews, is vital. So anyone who wants to destroy the Jewish state, must tackle that. And today's antisemites do that by applying "never again" to everyone other than the Jews. Never again is now. Never again means Jews have the right to defend themselves, and destroy an antisemitic, genocidal terrorist organization. Never again means supporting the war against Hamas' Nazi-compatible ideology.

TBH, this DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender) inversion is reminiscent of Nazi rhetoric, too. In his Jan 30, 1939 speech, Hitler attacked any sympathy expressed for the plight of Jews, claimed that it's the Jews who are responsible for the upcoming war, and that despite that, Jews will be the ones to pay the price for it, through their extermination in Europe.

Applying "never again" to cases where no genocide is happening, while wielding this appropriation as a weapon to deprive Jews of their right to live, means it's happening again.

^ Holocaust survivors from Buchenwald on board of the Meteora in July 1945. As the Israeli port of Haifa came into view, they put on their prisoner pyjamas, held up this Israeli flag, and took this pic.

On International Holocaust Memorial Day 2024, I am going to remember the Holocaust survivors who were murdered on Oct 7. I am going to think of the Holocaust survivors who were kidnapped during this massacre. I am going to recall that so many survivors sought to build their families instead of questing for blood and vengeance, and then they had to watch their families attacked, abducted and butchered by Palestinian terrorists. I am going to honor the overwhelming majority of Holocaust survivors who were Zionist, the two thirds of survivors who chose to make their home in Israel after the end of WWII, those who had to fight British soldiers and Arab attackers in order to make that happen, and the survivors who made up roughly 65% of Israel's fighters in our War of Independence.

I am going to remind everyone, that there are survivors who experienced Oct 7 as a second Holocaust.

Never again IS NOW.

Sending big hugs! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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sunbeamedskies · 3 months

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I've seen a lot of troubling antisemitism in the Our Flag Means Death fandom lately regarding Taika Waititi. Please hear me out.

A lot of people want everyone to comment about the Israel/Palestine war. It's understandable. What Palestinian civilians are going through in Gaza is a nightmare that no one deserves. They are overwhelmingly paying the price for Hamas' actions- a group they have no control over and are also harmed by. Thousands have been killed.

After October 7th, Taika signed a letter asking for the Israeli hostages to be released. It did not endorse any specific actions taken by the Israeli government- it was simply in support of the hostages.

But you know what he was immediately accused of?

Supporting genocide. Even though what he signed was about Israeli civilians- including the elderly, disabled, and children- who were being held captive by Hamas.

On October 7th, Jews died in a single day in numbers that hadn't been since the Holocaust. Israel contains half the world's entire Jewish population. The majority of its population are descendants of Jews from middle eastern and north African countries who were forcibly kicked out in violent pogroms and had nowhere else to go. Many are descendants of Holocaust survivors as well.

I think most non-Jews would be astounded at how much the majority of the worldwide Jewish community is still mourning and reeling from October 7th. It triggered a lot of intergenerational trauma in many of us, yet I hear barely any non-Jews talk about it.

And yet you immediately accused Taika, a Jewish man, of supporting genocide just because he didn't support hostages being taken and random civilians being murdered. Do you really think he trusts people not to twist his words if he attempts to talk about Palestine too, when you turned a moment of legitimate pain for members of one of the persecuted groups he's apart of into accusing him of being a genocide-supporting monster?

We Jews not only have to deal with the memory of October 7th, but also with people conflating any support for the hostages with support for the Israeli government. When we say that criticism of Israel can at times get antisemitic, this is the kind of thing we're talking about.

Many of us are simultaneously mourning for Palestine and horrified that a right-wing fascist government that has little care for Palestinian lives has taken over Israel. Innocent lives taken shouldn't justify the killing of other innocent lives, and we are watching it happen, feeling powerless.

And it gets worse, because targeting Taika specifically because he's a person of multiple marginalized identities, when you don't attack white members of the crew nearly as much, is ironically racist.

Unintentional antisemitism and unintentional racism is still antisemitism and racism.

Take a deep breath and please reflect on how you have no idea what it's like to be Jewish right now, and how some of your own antisemitic criticism about his signature has likely contributed to his silence about Palestine. If no matter what he says his words and actions are twisted by so many of his "fans", he might think there's nothing he can say that will do any good.

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historicity-was-already-taken · 3 months

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Welcome New Followers Post xiv

gonna make this bullet points of Things to Know because deadlines, but hi! welcome!

-this is not a jewish identity or a jumblr blog. i am a jewish person and a holocaust historian, so my content often overlaps with those realms of tumblr

-this is first and foremost a public history blog. public history and public historians do history for the public. we're passionate about transmitting complex historical topics from the academe to the people, and we're in constant (one-sided lmao) conversation with entities such as: film writers and producers, textbook writers, government bodies, journalists, etc regarding the construction of public memory, and the responsibilities that entails

-you don't have to ask if something is ok to reblog. I appreciate the thought, but unless I turn off reblogs or specifically ask people not to engage in certain ways, you're fine, that said:

-I do see and read all tags, replies, and rbs. I consider them public, and I often respond to them as new posts. If you want to engage with me and don't want others to see, then send me an ask which includes the words "please respond privately"

-You can should disagree with me and tell me when you think I'm wrong! Now, I won't lie, years of existing as a young-appearing hyper feminine (i like skirts and bows and sparkly shoes it is what it is) female, Jewish historian have made me defensive and bitey af, and I often misread neutral tones as "coming for me" tones and respond in kind. I apologize for when/if that happens to you, and I assure that, once I realize you're not coming at me in bad faith, I will feel horribly guilty.

-There is a learning curve here. I don't have any desire to gatekeep my blog (it's the opposite tbh), but I do use high level terms which can have multiple meanings in different contexts. I actively try to avoid using impenetrable academic jargon in this space, but sometimes that jargon is the only appropriate phrasing available. In those cases, I urge you to do some research and poke around and then, if you still don't understand what I mean, DM me.

-I am a white, American woman. I am actively anti-racist, and anti-bigotry in general, but there will be times when I do or say something clueless or privileged. If you see that and you have the energy, please tell me! I want this blog to be a welcome place for all,* and I appreciate call-outs as an opportunity for (un)learning.

-Building on that, this is an anti-bigotry space which I'd like people of all demographics and identities to feel comfortable engaging with.* That said, I don't play nice when some random corner of tumblr rolls up in here and barfs their shit all over my posts.

-I am a cringe millennial. I started this blog in 2011, when I was 21, had just finished college, before I'd heard back from any graduate schools, and before I had much resembling a career. I am currently 34. It's fine. But a lot of you are in your teens and 20s and are just starting on your careers, so like, please don't negatively compare yourselves to me or get self-deprecating when/if you want to contact me. We all learn and achieve at different paces and that's ok.

-My book, The Girl Bandits of the Warsaw Ghetto, will be released in Fall 2025. Trust me I will be screaming from the rooftops and you will not miss the announcements lmao.

-If I don't reply to an ask or a DM, it's not because I hate you. There are 800 reasons why I may not reply, and none of them are personal.

and finally

-I am not your Good Leftist Anti-Zionist Jew. I am not here as a rhetorical cudgel for left-wing anti-Semites who seek out Jews with politics similar to mine to then use as a weapon against other Jewish folks. Don't fucking do it.

*That does not mean that everything I post here will make you feel comfortable. History isn't supposed to make you feel comfortable. Sometimes, it can and should make you feel actively uncomfortable, because that discomfort/cognitive dissonance means you're learning (keep your cognitive dissonance temper tantrums tf away from me, tho). It does mean that I, as an individual, want you all to feel that this is a space where you are welcome to learn and ask questions.

i tried to use bullet points to keep this short, and i failed miserably. on brand.

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camillasgirl · 4 months

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Queen Camilla becomes Patron of the Anne Frank Trust UK

Ahead of Holocaust Memorial Day 2024, on Saturday 27th January, we are deeply honoured to announce that Her Majesty The Queen has become the first Royal Patron of the Anne Frank Trust UK.

As The Duchess of Cornwall, Her Majesty was Guest of Honour at the Anne Frank Trust Annual Lunch in 2022. The event marked Holocaust Memorial Day and the 75th anniversary of the publication of Anne Frank’s Diary. Her Majesty said the following words as part of her speech on that occasion:

“Let us… learn from those who bore witness to the horrors of the Holocaust, and all subsequent genocides, and commit ourselves to keeping their stories alive, so that each generation will be ready to tackle hatred in any of its terrible forms. And let us carry with us the words and wisdom Anne Frank (a child of only 14 years old) wrote on 7th May 1944: “What is done cannot be undone, but at least one can prevent it from happening again”.

Nicola Cobbold, Chair of the Anne Frank Trust, says:

"On the eve of Holocaust Memorial Day, the profound honour of Royal Patronage emphasises the importance of Holocaust remembrance and anti-prejudice education. Her Majesty’s interest in young people and in reading is well known and long-standing. As a youth charity whose key educational tool is a beloved book, Anne Frank’s Diary, we could not be more delighted to have Her Majesty as our Patron. What this confirms, too, is The Queen’s deep commitment to commemorating the 6 million Jews murdered by the Nazis and to overcoming prejudice today. The devastating events in Israel and Gaza have led to unprecedented levels of antisemitism here in Britain, as well as a significant rise in Islamophobia. Her Majesty’s support could not be more timely as we all work to challenge hatred and build social cohesion at this critical time.”

#queen camilla #anne Frank

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tepkunset · 2 months

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Thoughts on X-Men 97 S01E02 – Mutant Liberation Begins

TL;DR: X-Men 97’s butchering of the Trial of Magneto is more than just a bad adaptation. It’s an offensive stripping of a core part of the original story and of Magneto’s character.

The Trail of Magneto story arc in the Uncanny X-Men comics is an iconic turn for the character and the team; it is a transformation of an enemy turned friend. But that is not all the story represents. Delving deeper into its layers, one can pull out a lot of messages. The biggest one I relate to is the effects of compound systemic oppression when one has multiple identities marking them as a minority. But that’s missing in X-Men 97’s adaptation… even worse, it actively counters this point.

Before we get into the cartoon’s adaptation, let’s take a look at the comics, first.

The story begins in Uncanny X-Men #199, where Magneto and Kitty Pryde both attend a special reception at the National Holocaust Memorial in Washington, DC. It is here that Kitty is able to reconnect with folks who knew her family, who were victims in the Auschwitz concentration camp, and Magneto reconnects with people he knew there as well. They praise him for helping them survive.

But Freedom Force breaks into the reception and tries to arrest Magneto in the name of the US government. Magneto initially resists: “My land—all the countries of the world—turned their backs on me and mine when we were condemned to Hitler's death camps. Therefore, in return, I have sworn to deny them!” However, when he sees how afraid everyone around him is, he accepts their arrest and agrees to stand trial.

The story continues in Uncanny X-Men #200. Magneto’s trial by the international court of justice begins with England’s Attorney-General claiming there is no such thing as mutant oppression, which we the readers know, is a blatant lie. Despite this, Magneto remains calm, and when it’s his turn to speak, he says the following:

“My dream, from the start, has been the protection and preservation of my own kind, mutants. To spare them the fate my family suffered in Auschwitz and do not tell me such a thing cannot happen again, because that is a lie! You humans slaughter each other because of the colour of your skin, or your faith or your politics—or for no reason at all—too many of you hate as easily as you draw breath, what's to prevent you adding us to that list?!”

But the trial attracts the attention of the Fenris twins; the Nazi offspring of Baron Von Strucker. They are there to kill Magneto, Xavier, and Gabrielle Haller (AKA David Haller’s mother), because she is Jewish and was an enemy of their father. Magneto risks his life to save everyone in the trial from them, but Xavier’s heart gives out and he nearly dies in Magneto’s arms, until he’s whisked away by his alien girlfriend who says she can save him. Xavier makes Magneto vow to stand with the X-Men and teach the New Mutants in his absence.

So, let’s keep in mind how intertwined Magneto’s Jewish and mutant identities are in this story; how they interact and shape his views and actions together. Because X-Men 97 is about to take all that away.

In X-Men 97 S01E02, when Val Cooper and the UN show up to arrest Magneto, he surrenders peacefully to try and gain the X-Men’s trust. And Magneto’s speech is very different from that of the comics:

“As a boy, my people's homes were burned to ash, because we dared to call God by another name. Then, my people hunted me with those who had once hunted them. I was a freak, born a mutant. An abomination to their misnamed gods. In history's sad song, there is a refrain. Believe differently, love differently, be of different sex or skin, and be punished. We sing this song to one another. The oppressed become oppressors.”

And it is not the Fenris twins who show up, but just generic Friends of Humanity baddies, led by X-Cutioner.

This adaptation may contain the surface-level story beats of the original, but it misses the heart of the matter; it misses the point!

Magneto’s cartoon speech separates him from his Jewish community. That is something the Magneto I know would never do. In the comics, his part about how humans are always killing each other speaks much more volumes, because he is speaking about his experience not just as a mutant, but as a Jewish person who has survived a genocide. Magneto, nor anyone with more than identity, has to choose between them. This show now says otherwise.

What I hate most of all about his cartoon speech though, is the line, “the oppressed become oppressors.” This is straight up cloaked white supremacist rhetoric; the fear that if racial/ethnic minorities are given equal rights, we will take over and start oppressing white settlers. And no, I’m not saying minorities are exempt from carrying prejudices against others, obviously. What I’m saying is, oppression is a systemic problem that largely stems from colonialism, and to paint oppressed people as a danger that needs to be oppressed or will oppress you, is a terrible idea used by colonizers to justify the system of colonialism. It is not based on fact.

The message of Magneto’s speech in the comics is that he has personally suffered from the hands of oppression before, and does not want others to suffer more. The message of magneto’s speech in the cartoon is that all people are bad, end of story. There is no nuance, there is no larger context at play, and there is no real grit to the words said! They have de-clawed Magneto’s character, and they have ripped away what he stands for… who he stands for.

#x men 97 #x men #magneto #max eisenhardt #marvel comics #comic thoughts #meta

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year

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Part 4. all fired up

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of drinking & drinking games, cursing, Eddie being shockingly graceful, and laundry room confessions

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.8K of multi-perspective tension, sexual and otherwise, and timeline fuckery; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

series masterlist | playlist

previous || next

Now - Spring break, March

Steve asking you to move into the loft was the last thing you’d expected. Not that the house hunt had been going so hot, to be fair. And you found yourself back on the couch of 4B more often than not.

He’d broached the topic with you a few weeks ago before school started. Seated at your desk and hastily applying your makeup using the mirror from a compact. Steve hung out with you most mornings before first period, shooting the shit and gossiping about students. Eddie and Robin would join you when they could, but usually it was just the two of you.

“Are we aligned for quarter 3?” You ask, attempting to curl your eyelashes without pinching yourself. “I’m doing Night just as you roll into WWII with AP World, yeah?”

Steve nods, “Right, we have the field trip to the Holocaust Memorial Museum before spring break, so that tracks.”

“Good,” you swipe mascara through your lashes. “We should send out the permission slips this week then. I’ll send out an email to parents if they wanna volunteer as chaperones.”

He goes quiet, as if he’s lost in thought while you begin the same meticulous process with your other eye.

“Y’know Nance is moving out soon,” he says casually, his loafer toeing the tile on the floor. “Her and Jonathan finally found a place; she’s thinking she’ll be out in time for spring break.”

“Ugh, finally,” you comment, setting the lash curler down. “Thought the day would never come.”

He laughs at your flippant response, watching as you continue your routine. And just as you were going to consider your makeup application for the day ‘mission accomplished,’ Steve says, “The room’s yours, if you want it.”

Shocked, you nearly stab yourself in the eye with the mascara wand, tears beading at your lash line, “Fuck!”

Dropping the wand and compact, you screw your eye shut in pain thus ruining your mascara. May as well accept you’d walk around looking like a raccoon again. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

“Are you okay?”

“Considering that I nearly put my own eye out? Yeah, I’m just peachy.”

He cringes watching as you blink, “Sorry, that was probably my bad.”

“How,” you laugh, pain dissipating slightly, “I don’t recall asking you to do my makeup today.”

“No,” he huffs, “I mean with the whole asking you to move in thing. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

Surveying the damage in the mirror, you admit defeat and grab for the makeup removing towelettes. “Mmhm, really missed an opportunity to wine and dine me there, big guy.”

The joke lands like a lead balloon. Ba dum tss!

You scrub the towelette across your face, paying special attention to your overly mascara’d eye, and pop open your moisturizer. “It’s not a big deal Steve, and you’re not wrong to bring it up.”

“Yeah, how you figure?”

Your shrug dotting on your moisturizer, “Solves two problems, doesn’t it? You need a roommate and I need a place to live.”

He stays quiet as you finish your ablutions, omitting the fact that they don’t necessarily need another roommate to make rent since his trust fund kicked in. But then again, Eddie and Robin don’t know that either.

“I guess,” he says, checking his watch. “Well, no pressure, either way. But I gotta bounce, I have hall duty.”

“Sure,” your voice is a clip as you zip the makeup bag shut, “See ya later.”

He gives you a small smile and wave as he leaves. The door closes behind him; the silence left in his absence deafening.

“It’s too soon, Nance,” Robin says, voice a crackle in the slow, calm of the morning.

Nancy considers her words, taking a sip of coffee from her travel mug. And true, Robin knows Steve well and is understandably protective over him. But Nancy knows you and Steve, and that you’re both chickenshit.

“Maybe so,” she breathes, eyes glancing out the window and settling on Steve helping you to unload a few boxes from your car. A half-hearted shrug, “But then again, maybe not.”

She had made quick work of moving out, room packed in an orderly fashion and boxes labeled appropriately. The moving company arrived promptly and Nancy had successfully moved out of the loft before you had arrived that morning.

Jonathan and Argyle would meet the movers at the house, and she’d head out then. For now, she observed the debacle unfolding on the street outside of the loft. You had packed your car in typical fashion, which was …chaotic, to say the least. When you and Steve couldn’t free a box wedged against the window of the backseat, you hollered from the street for Eddie until he woke up.

Understandably pissed, he trudged out of the loft in his sweatpants and a crop top that had to have been Robin’s at one point (a goldenrod yellow shirt with red text reading ‘Lasagna Del Rey’), muttering something about you being a dumbass. And now, Steve and Eddie eyed the boxes warily, debating how best to wrest them from the backseat and trunk.

“Sup, bitches?” You greet, having successfully snuck away from the boys downstairs, and drop your purse and a box by the door. “Ooh, are the girls fighting yet?”

Joining them at the window, you spy Steve yelling something at Eddie, who has taken it upon himself to open the sunroof of your car, thinking that the best way to unload the ridiculous amount of boxes in the backseat. He’s laid himself partially out on the roof and trunk, shoving an arm in through the opening, like a human claw machine.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nancy says with a shake of her head, “They don’t have a brain cell to rub together between to two of them.”

Robin snorts, phone out and already recording for posterity’s sake. “You can say that again.”

The boys, only somewhat successful in unpacking the car, badger the group of you in the loft until you’re annoyed enough to come downstairs and help. By the time the movers had arrived and placed the furniture in your new bedroom, your car had been unpacked, boxes organized by Nancy in the kitchen for the time being.

“The end of an era,” you say, hugging her goodbye. “Can’t believe the great Nancy Wheeler is shipping out to war.”

Robin and Eddie laugh from the living room, where they’re currently preoccupied laying out beers some semblance of a shape, a bottle of whiskey at the center of the coffee table.

She hits your shoulder playfully, “It won’t be that bad,” she tells you, “S’not like I’m dying over here.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You turn to Steve, stubbornly ignoring her presence, “I swear, it’s like she’s in the room with us.”

“Spooky,” Robin agrees, with a waggle of her brows, “I can’t remember the last time I saw Nancy Wheeler.”

She scoffs behind you, “Okay punks, I can take a hint,” and places her key on the counter.

Steve pulls her into a bearhug and says, “Oh, y’think you’re getting out of here without a rematch?”

Nancy pushes back, eyeing him warily. “You wanna go toe to toe with the reigning champ?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you cut in, strolling casually to the living room and catching the beer Eddie tosses your way. “We’re all adults here.” Your voice is eerily calm and reserved, “We can do this with dignity, self-restraint, and, dare I say, honor.”

Robin grins, “The name of the game is True American,” tosses two beers Steve’s way.

Eddie counts it down, “One, two, three, four. JFK!”

“FDR!” is chorused in return.

Beers are cracked open and shotgunned with abandon.

“Steve, you’re in the lava!” you shout from your perch on the dining table, “Get outta there man.”

He stops drinking his beer and looks at you, puzzled, “I thought this was Nancy Reagan’s gun closet.”

“George Washington, Abe Lincoln,” Eddie croons, as you reach out to haul Steve on the table with you.

“Cherry tree!”

Robin whistles, swaying precariously on the windowsill, “All right Americans, ya ready? Let’s do the count.”

“One, two, three.”

You slap the back of your hand to your forehead, one finger raised and inspect everyone else’s numbers; Nance and Robin both had threes, while Eddie came at a close second with a two, Steve was dead last with a four.

Squinting, you smile and call out, “That’s me!” Moving unilaterally from the tabletop and stepping across a chair and stool to take your new position.

Steadying yourself on the countertop, you signal for their attention. “The only thing we have to fear–”

“Is fear itself!” they call back in response, “Drink!”

An hour or so later finds you several beers in and slung across Eddie’s back in a piggyback ride as he steps precariously across blankets and pillows.

“Jimmy Carter atop Grover Cleveland,” you say softly as he takes his turn, well both your turns since it’s turned into a team game now.

He stops and looks from left to right, “What now?”

Untangling an arm from where you’d wrapped it around his shoulders, you point to the right. “Over here.”

“Huh,” he grunts swaying slightly, “M’over here,” and moves another space to the right.

“I gotta get to the castle!” Nancy yells, hopping toward the coffee table with the help of an overturned barstool.

“Go, Nance, go!” you cheer her on, safely deposited on an armchair near the couch.

“JFK!”

“FDR,” you chant, taking another swig of beer, watching as Steve and Robin intertwine arms to pour beer into the other’s mouth. Most of Seve’s spilling out and onto his shirt as Robin laughs.

“Y’know,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair, “You’re pretty good at this Nance.”

She smiles, toasts him with her beer can, and takes a bow.

He thumbs his lip, eyes glinting dangerously.

“But not good enough.”

Slowly, you meandered from the armchair to the coffee table while Steve was distracted and grab the handle of whisky; check mate. You wave to Eddie from where he’s stood next to Steve.

“D-does this–” he blinks at you, dazed.

Steve turns quickly from Eddie to you and back again. “What–No!”

“Is it–” Eddie continues, treading carefully across the floor to the coffee table. “This means we win?!”

“Yes,” you crow loudly, “This means we won! Suck it Steve–who’s the King now!?”

Eddie picks you up and swings you around in victory chanting, “U.S.A., U.S.A.!” Your bright laughter rings out amidst Steve’s groans of defeat.

The next morning finds you all piled on your bed, groaning as the spring sun lances through the windows. Your brain is mush, leaking from your ears it feels like. You turn to get out of bed, cursing the sloshing of your stomach. Still reeling from your celebration after winning True American, you flop on the floor with an audible thunk and belly crawl toward the door.

“You okay?” a low rasp, followed by the rustling of sheets.

You grunt as someone scoops you from the floor, dragging you upwards. Body limp as a ragdoll’s you allow yourself to be carried out of the room, hazarding a glance behind to see Robin, Nancy, and Eddie still passed out on the bed.

Mmm, must be Steve then.

He was always quick to rally after nights spent barhopping in college, kept his liquor better than you ever could. Hands scrabbling for something to hold on to, you settle for the threadbare fabric of his shirt. He shifts you in his grasp, readjusting the grip he has on you and sighs.

“You’re…freakishly…quiet,” he whispers as he deposits you on the couch, leaning forward to get a better look at you, hair falling in his face.

Batting your hand at him blearily, you burrow down into the couch hugging a pillow for good measure. Steve leaves you, starting the coffeemaker in the kitchen and mumbling about the moving boxes cluttering the counters.

“Everything is shit.” You whine, “Fucking True American… Fucking whiskey. My bones hurt. I feel like I’m dying. My sweat is sweating. Did I even fall asleep in my own bedroom?”

Steve snorts because at least he wasn’t that sloppy. He doesn’t remember a lot from last night, but something like clarity returns to him, a chorus of cheers and something being tossed. “Was that before or after you took off your panties?”

You whimper and bury your forehead into the pillow beneath you, cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “You remember that? S’last time I rock a lace thong, felt like my ass was eating it.”

He shuts his eyes at the image, tries not comment on anything involving your ass. Instead he asks, “So how do we want the coffee this morning? Regular strength or trying to vibrate yourself out of existence?”

“Jus’ wanna feel normal again. Remember? Bones hurt.”

Steve hums in the affirmative, pouring the coffee into two mugs and adding a splash of creamer to one. He pads over to you, sets both mugs on the table and lets you choose. Opting for the black coffee, you take a bitter sip hoping to feel something other than remorse.

“Mmm, s’gonna be that kinda day I see.”

“All due respect, which is none,” you grouse, “You can fuck all the way off, Steve.”

He sputters the next mouthful at your response, and it catches in his nose, makes him choke and cough all over the coffee table. You suddenly follow suit, except it’s on your own spit and the two of you look like complete morons to Eddie, who is sauntering in, completely fine.

“Told you to lay off the whiskey last night, Trouble,” he says reproachingly. He pauses by the hallway entrance before walking out into the living room, stepping on the back of the armchair with the grace of a prima ballerina. You and Steve gape at how he balances on the back of it, reaching up toward the ceiling.

With a thump he lands back down, arm pulling back before a tiny purple thong quietly smacks Steve in the face.

“What the fuck!?” You shove Steve off of the couch in a poor effort to retrieve your unmentionables. He grunts and shakes it loose, one hand pushing your face back as the other grips your thong. He opens his mouth to cuss out Eddie but the look on his face shuts you both up.

Eddie looks like a dog with a bone. The cat who caught the canary. Smug and casual as he leans against the counter, arms crossed as he looks from your pink face to Steve’s, to the triangle of fabric in your hand. Eddie waggles his brows, sucks on his teeth, and grins– shit-eatingly proud.

“Thought you’d want those back, Stevie. You’re the one who took ’em off her last night.”

The rest of the day slips by lazily. Jonathan collecting Nancy around noon or so, offended at having missed a rousing game of True American. They say their goodbyes and head off to the new house, leaving the rest of you to clean up from last night and unpack the boxes in the kitchen.

Steve is trying to do laundry. He prefers to do it himself, though Robin always offers to throw it in with her stuff. That’s fine though, he’s got a system, one he’s perfected over years of uninterrupted Sundays doing laundry.

Anyway, he’s trying to do laundry when you saunter in.

On top of an empty dryer, you swing your legs uselessly. “Harrington,” you instruct seriously, “Don’t put the red sock in with the white stuff.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he retorts sifting through his hamper. Separating out the darks from the lights, whites elsewhere—it’s a system.

You tilt your head, amused, and stare at him. It’s midafternoon now, the boxes had been unpacked and your own items absorbed into the communal drawers and spaces of the loft. Robin and Eddie busied themselves with their usual activities, whatever those were, and the loft had been quiet save for the a/c kicking on.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Your hesitant to ask, voice soft as you bite your lip. He stops sorting the clothes to look at you, brow furrowed.

“Talk about what?”

It’s only then that he notices you’re wearing his shirt. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really, you’re like a raccoon, always rifling through his shit and stealing his stuff. As if he wouldn’t notice.

An old white t-shirt from some vintage store or another that read ‘Stanley Cup.’ It swallows you, the white dips and stretches over your chest, and drops as its hem reaches the tops of your thighs. Your bare legs stick out, bottoms obscured by its larger size. You’re distracted by the material and fit, fingers tugging at the collar and adjusting the sleeves.

Something feels weird. Kind of funny like how a jab to the side hurts and tickles at the same time. Shock? Relief? Confusion, at the very least. He catches himself staring.

“Y’know,” you say after a while, hand stroking at your sternum languidly, “Christmas? We should get it out in the open.”

That snaps him out of it.

“Don’t you mean Thanksgiving?”

He goes back to sorting the clothes, anything to distract himself in the moment.

“What do you mean? Thanksgiving?”

If he had to pinpoint it, the moment this whole thing was set off for him, it was that first night in the cabin over Thanksgiving break. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, could barely keep his hands to himself.

He sighs, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes frustratedly, “Yeah. When the idiots conned us into a one-bed-short situation? You got drunk, and I had to take care of you?”

He just stops himself from saying, like always. Just barley, but he does it. Steve knows this has been difficult for you, doesn’t want to belabor the point.

“Oh,” you say. It’s soft, maybe a little dejected, too. Your legs stop their idle swinging. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“S’fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, tosses in a load of dark clothes to the washer. “I mean, we probably should discuss it. Just for like, ground rules or something.”

He eyeballs the amount of laundry detergent and shuts the machine, turning the dial and pressing ‘start.’ As the washer begins its cycle, he leans back against it, arms crossed.

You take a deep breath in, “I didn’t want you to be that guy,” you admit, voice catching. “I couldn’t— I wouldn’t do that to you, Steve.”

“Then why did you–” he responds after a second, pausing to make eye contact, watches your wavering expression, wincing as you recall the events of last December.

“Jesus, Stevie,” you say gently, “You’re--my best friend.”

The door of the loft bursts open as he begins to reply. He takes you aside in the hallway, further from the laundry and closer to your bedroom. Hears Robin shout something about take-out orders, but dismisses it for the time being.

This isn’t for anyone except you and him. You can’t even articulate it to yourself, much less anyone else, so Steve nudges you into your room and shuts the door. You turn to him and the look in your eyes makes his breath stick to his throat. Jesus.

This is worse than sympathy and he wishes it were that simple. But this is heartbreak— and you’re the type of person who feels heartbreak in unimaginable ways. Steve shakes his head, doesn’t know how to navigate this part.

The first time this happened, he joked for your sake, and you laughed back for his. You both were younger then, inexperienced and wary; fumbling hands and lips after the Homecoming dance. The last time this happened, the glances were more pointed, the touches were measured and precise.

He’s thought about that night more than he’d care to admit.

Your mouth falls open in a hoarse whisper, “Sorry— I’m—”

“Hey, none of that,” he chides taking a step closer. “S’nothing to worry about.”

“But I—” you choke up, “I hurt you, Steve. I hurt you so much.”

He sucks a breath in. It was a lifetime ago. It was nothing. He was young and dumb and interested in Nancy, your best friend, and not the girl next door. And then, when he had realized his mistake, you were in love with somebody else— wearing his ring and planning to take his name.

Idiot.

He wishes he had a similar excuse for Christmas, but god knows he doesn’t. No excuse whatsoever, just raw feeling and need. He shakes the thought loose before it can take hold. Steve’s hands find purchase along your arms, his weight the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“But I’m okay. I’m good now. I got you with me. I’m okay.” All his rambling rushes out through a harried stream-of-consciousness. His thumbs running smooth circles against your skin, “You— You gotta stop cryin’. It’s killin’ me, honey.”

You blink your eyes, not recognizing the tears beading along your lashes. You press your palms into your eyes, take a deep breath in and out. “Okay.”

You keep to yourself for the rest of the day, only coming out for food when the take-out arrives. And even then, you eat quickly and make some excuse about needing to organize your room before leaving the table.

Robin eyes Steve suspiciously, “You two alright?”

He leaves the table rather than respond and follows you down the hall. Your door is cracked open, laptop playing some sitcom or other on the desk as you fold clothes on your bed. You pause hearing the groan of an old floorboard, “That you Steve?”

“Yeah, s’just me.”

Not turning from your task, you wave him in over your shoulder and continue pairing socks. He helps you return the clothes to their respective drawers and flops on your bed, exhausted, while you shut your laptop closed.

“Guess you’re staying then.”

“Guess so,” his voice is muffled by your impossibly comfortable duvet. Like clouds or some shit, Steve wonders passingly where you got it from.

Half-heartedly, you shove him to the side and turn down the sheets. You pat the side next to you and fluff up some pillows. He lays down next to you on the bed, propped up against a pillow or two, settling down for the night.

Steve watches as you burrow down in the sheets, mumble something incomprehensibly, body sliding briefly until you’re completely pressed against him. He tugs the blanket up and shifts so he can lie down comfortably, grabs your phone from the center of the bed.

He’s looking at your background wallpaper when you mumble something unintelligible in your sleep again. It’s a picture of him from a Zoom faculty meeting during the pandemic, brows raised at something some dumbass had said, you’d texted him a moment earlier saying ‘this idiot saying the quiet part out loud’ and he had to cover his laugh with a cough; you’d isolated his cell on the call and posed next to his face as it filled the screen of your monitor, a cheeky grin and thumbs up as Eddie snapped the photo.

A short sigh followed by a deeper one. “Yeah, you know.”

“Uh huh,” Steve smirks, entertaining your babbling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” A grunt, a huff of breath before you flip on your side, dreaming now. “Yeah. I love you.”

Steve fumbles and drops the phone on the floor, its screen going dark. He stares wordlessly at the deep blue of your ceiling, sleep-drunk words sinking to the bottom of his swollen heart.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #fanfiction #teacher!steve #stranger things #reader insert #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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