Greetins. My name is Moisha, Mohel, Moel, Menachem, Goldstein, Silverberg, Platinum Moitz, War reporter for the Jewish Telegraph Agency.

I come to you from a smoldering pile of rubble.

Here at what used to be, UCLA, my dear mother-in-law's Amma Matter.

The scenes I saw the previous night on this campus where once did our youth flourish and

frolic were nothing short of apocalyptic.

I saw brutal 19 year olds thrusting their heads into the innocent nightclubs or nightsticks, however

you call it, of our youthful officers in the LAPD.

The previous night, these students

who appear to have only learned two things,

Jewish hatred and pronouns seems to have viciously flung

themselves at a group of our vir, Jewish, youthful 40 year old men.

Now, I am somebody who is known to be fastidiously neat, often at the expense of personal relationships.

I am also, I admit, Hansi.

But the blood that these students spilled on our precious flagstones and floor of this campus

to which my grandfather

Warner brother himself donated $200 billion is extraordinary.

Now thankfully these students are locked up.

And now as I stand here against the smoldery ruins,

like so much incense out of abrasia. I am left to wonder, why did you do this? Why do you not

care for us? Haven't we given you ways?

Perhaps if you get me too, you can move to Tel Aviv?

I don't understand the hatred that these young students have for us. All I've tried to do is get them fired, beaten,

...