This school is where I grew up and where I met Jesus. It’s the only place where I could repay my Lord for what he has done in my life. That’s why I care for it just like I care for my home. The school is like a river that pours out hope for Christians, Muslims and Jews. Yet our work is far from done. People come to Nazareth to visit the dead stones. My prayer is that people don’t forget the living stones — those of us who are among the few remaining Arab Christians in Israel. It means we are a minority (Christian), within a minority (Arab descent), within a minority (living in Israel). It’s not easy. That’s why we continue to pray for the school and, most of all, for the future of our young people. 

 

This school is a very precious place, a giving place that prepares young people to face many obstacles — social, political, financial and spiritual. The school can do more. We need to do more. It will take land and facilities and money and many prayers. That’s why it’s very important that people in the U.S. know about the school and what we’re about. Recently, my 10th grade class visited a local home for handicapped kids. We brought them gifts, and when they opened them our students and these gracious children touched and sang and danced together. When it came time to leave, the students asked, ‘Teacher, why don’t we come again?’ That’s why I know that God’s hand is in this place.”

 

When I came here, the school had just one room. Getting books was difficult. Finding qualified teachers was hard. As principal, one of the first things I did was  adopt the Israeli matriculation examination — a new standard of academic achievement — so that our students could apply to and attend Hebrew University in Jerusalem. And many have. Today, in Nazareth our graduates are leaders in business, education and medicine. Recently, when I discovered I had cancer, the doctor who treated me was one of my former students. If you were to look at my bank account, you would see the balance is barely above the red line. In reality, because of this school and what it’s meant to so many capable young men and women, I feel like I’m the richest man alive. Emile Nusair passed away on May 25, 2006