The scandal erupted just days before caps were set to fly. Students at Rutgers University's School of Engineering vowed to boycott their own graduation—all because of one man's social media feed.
That man was Rami Elghandour, a biotech CEO and proud alumnus. His crime? A stream of raw, unfiltered posts accusing Israel of genocide, war crimes, and—most shockingly—running dungeons where dogs are trained to sexually assault prisoners.
When administrators caught wind of the looming walkout, they acted fast. The invitation was yanked. Elghandour was out. But the firestorm was just beginning.
The tweet that lit the fuse was a reply to Congressman Ro Khanna. It repeated a vile, unsubstantiated claim that had been ricocheting through pro-Palestinian circles for weeks. University officials refused to name the specific post—until the Jewish Telegraphic Agency pinned it down.
Elghandour didn't go quietly. On X, he posted a statement dripping with heartbreak and betrayal. "I love Rutgers," he wrote. "It's disappointing and heartbreaking to see it abandon its students and its ideals."
But this wasn't an isolated incident. Since the Hamas terror attacks on October 7, 2023, Rutgers' campus had become a powder keg. Anti-Israel protests erupted. One town hall on BDS was overrun by screaming demonstrators chanting, "One solution, intifada revolution!"
Jewish students who came to discuss their safety were left trapped in a room full of radicals. The university president, Jonathan Holloway, reportedly fled—abandoning the very students who needed him most. "He ran away," one student later recalled.
Masked activists from Students for Justice in Palestine issued demands while wrapped in keffiyehs. Demonstrators shouted the genocidal slogan, "From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free." The atmosphere grew toxic, charged, and dangerous.
Months later, Holloway announced he was leaving. By January 2025, Rutgers had signed a federal resolution—admitting no wrongdoing, but promising sweeping changes to combat antisemitism on campus.
In the end, a graduation speech became a symbol of something far bigger. A university caught between its ideals, its students, and a firestorm it couldn't contain.
