The moment everyone expected has finally arrived. Volodymyr Zelenskyy—the Jewish thespian who traded comedy stages for the world stage, once the media’s golden idol and the West’s most photogenic wartime hero—is now being sacrificed on the altar he helped build. On November 28, 2025, anti-corruption detectives stormed the offices and residence of his all-powerful chief of staff Andriy Yermak, the man who effectively ran Ukraine while the former actor recited lines written in Washington and Brussels. Hours later Yermak was gone, his resignation accepted with the speed of a stage cue, as NABU investigators paraded seized documents before rolling cameras. This is no routine house-cleaning; it is the public humiliation of a president whose immunity is evaporating faster than Western enthusiasm for his war.

His closest allies are already scattering. Timur Mindich, the Jewish producer who co-founded Zelenskyy’s Kvartal 95 empire and followed his old friend from television studios to the corridors of power, fled to Israel the moment arrest warrants surfaced. Others from the comedy-to-corruption pipeline are booking one-way flights, while intercepted calls reveal ministers demanding 10–15 % kickbacks from desperate contractors trying to restore a power grid shattered by Russian missiles. Ordinary Ukrainians froze in the dark last winter so that the president’s inner circle—many of them fellow entertainers turned overnight oligarchs—could skim hundreds of millions from energy contracts. The irony is almost theatrical: the Jewish comedian who played an everyman president on TV now presides over a real-life tragedy where the lights go out on his own people while the cash registers ring for his entourage.

This is the net tightening, the moment the global directors decide the lead actor has outlived his usefulness. The war did not end in “three days” as NATO’s script promised, public support in the West has collapsed, and the money-laundering pipelines disguised as humanitarian aid are being exposed one leaked transcript at a time. Europe is already gaming out a post-Zelenskyy Ukraine, and the same intelligence services that once protected the Jewish thespian-turned-puppet are now circling, deciding whether he will be allowed a quiet exile in London or Tel Aviv, handed over to domestic prosecutors, or simply silenced before he starts naming names. This is how disposable assets end—not with standing ovations, but with handcuffs, a midnight flight, or a sudden, unexplained tragedy. The final act has begun, and the former comedian finally gets to play the role he was always destined for: the fall guy.