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Last winter, on a Thursday evening, a message appeared in our class group. It said that the Ministry of Education had decided to close all schools the next day because of a storm. There was a photo of a letter with an official logo, and the message ended with the words "Send this to everyone you know!" Within ten minutes, it had been shared in dozens of groups. Half of my class decided not to set the alarm.

The next morning, the sun was shining, and the schools were open. Twelve students from my class stayed at home. When the rest of us arrived, our English teacher, Ms Golan, was waiting for us. She didn't shout. Instead, she said that we were going to spend the lesson on one question: how did a fake message fool so many smart people?

First, she showed us the photo again. When we looked closely, we could see that the letter had no date and that the logo was a little blurred. Then she asked us who had written the message. Nobody knew. It had been forwarded so many times that the original writer had disappeared. "If you can't find the source," she told us, "be careful."

Next, she explained that fake news often plays with our feelings. A message that makes us very excited, angry or afraid makes us want to share it quickly, before we think. That is exactly what its writers want. She said that serious news organisations usually check a story before they publish it, and that the ministry's official website would have told us if schools were really closed.

At the end of the lesson, Ms Golan gave us three simple questions to ask before we share anything: Who wrote this? Where else can I find it? How does it make me feel? I have used those questions many times since then. Last month, my grandmother sent me a story about a fruit that cures every disease. I checked, and of course it was false. I explained it to her kindly, the way Ms Golan explained it to us.

Last winter, on a Thursday evening, a message appeared in our class group. It said that the Ministry of Education had decided to close all schools the next day because of a storm. There was a photo of a letter with an official logo, and the message ended with the words "Send this to everyone you know!" Within ten minutes, it had been shared in dozens of groups. Half of my class decided not to set the alarm.

The next morning, the sun was shining, and the schools were open. Twelve students from my class stayed at home. When the rest of us arrived, our English teacher, Ms Golan, was waiting for us. She didn't shout. Instead, she said that we were going to spend the lesson on one question: how did a fake message fool so many smart people?

First, she showed us the photo again. When we looked closely, we could see that the letter had no date and that the logo was a little blurred. Then she asked us who had written the message. Nobody knew. It had been forwarded so many times that the original writer had disappeared. "If you can't find the source," she told us, "be careful."

Next, she explained that fake news often plays with our feelings. A message that makes us very excited, angry or afraid makes us want to share it quickly, before we think. That is exactly what its writers want. She said that serious news organisations usually check a story before they publish it, and that the ministry's official website would have told us if schools were really closed.

At the end of the lesson, Ms Golan gave us three simple questions to ask before we share anything: Who wrote this? Where else can I find it? How does it make me feel? I have used those questions many times since then. Last month, my grandmother sent me a story about a fruit that cures every disease. I checked, and of course it was false. I explained it to her kindly, the way Ms Golan explained it to us.

Last winter, on a Thursday evening, a message appeared in our class group. It said that the Ministry of Education had decided to close all schools the next day because of a storm. There was a photo of a letter with an official logo, and the message ended with the words "Send this to everyone you know!" Within ten minutes, it had been shared in dozens of groups. Half of my class decided not to set the alarm.

The next morning, the sun was shining, and the schools were open. Twelve students from my class stayed at home. When the rest of us arrived, our English teacher, Ms Golan, was waiting for us. She didn't shout. Instead, she said that we were going to spend the lesson on one question: how did a fake message fool so many smart people?

First, she showed us the photo again. When we looked closely, we could see that the letter had no date and that the logo was a little blurred. Then she asked us who had written the message. Nobody knew. It had been forwarded so many times that the original writer had disappeared. "If you can't find the source," she told us, "be careful."

Next, she explained that fake news often plays with our feelings. A message that makes us very excited, angry or afraid makes us want to share it quickly, before we think. That is exactly what its writers want. She said that serious news organisations usually check a story before they publish it, and that the ministry's official website would have told us if schools were really closed.

At the end of the lesson, Ms Golan gave us three simple questions to ask before we share anything: Who wrote this? Where else can I find it? How does it make me feel? I have used those questions many times since then. Last month, my grandmother sent me a story about a fruit that cures every disease. I checked, and of course it was false. I explained it to her kindly, the way Ms Golan explained it to us.