Address to the SJS Graduating Class of 2004


Forgive me Father for throughout the past 30 years I have been drinking Nbeed Al’Eddess from the closet in the sacristy. When I was a student, I would go into church, pray and reward myself with a little sip of that sweet wine. Don’t blame me for that habit. All the credit goes to Fr. Roland. Serving his masses was very rewarding.

Tonight, I will share with you scenes of my story at Saint Joseph School. I will confess to a few more things, embarrass myself and in the process, I will share with you my understanding of what is like to be a graduate of SJS.

In this story, there are no titles. So forgive me if I drop the Monsignor part from Camille Zaidan and the Istaz from Boutros ElZoghbi. Imagine that we are gathering as one big family who just finished a big lunch on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone is relaxed eating fruits, sweets and sipping coffee. It is during these times when family members open up, exchange ideas, disclose grievances, and share hopes and aspirations. So, I invite you to share with me this journey that starts somewhere around 1966.

Maalem Tanios would pick me up from Horch Tabet in the early morning hours always wearing a big smile. “’3ado mneeh!” he would say. He was never mean. Even if he wanted to, he could not be. The long journey with him was never unpleasant.

At school, we regularly saw a taller man who I still envision with a straw hat and a ladder--Abou Jean. Abou Jean kept SJS running. He would take care of the trees and fixes everything on the premises. I rarely spoke to him. I wish I did.

Do you know Miss Lamia? When I was in boarding school she kept us clean. Miss Lamia: The one who worked with evident love. I was also happy to see Miss Hind’s picture in Dimensions. She used to be our only nurse. The rumor has it that she fixed everything with a little cognac and aspirin. God bless her heart. I guess she always believed that the less the medicine the better off our little bodies would be. By the way, I’ve grown to believe that, too.

From Miss Hind to Dr. Makhlouf: It was fun visiting him except for one problem. After checking our “manhood” he would release our BVD elastic band so quickly resulting with that unexpected sting on our bellies.

Who remembers Sister Sheila Mary? The towering tall kind human being who still remembered each and every one’s name long after we stopped being her students. A session on her blue guitar was a God-sent break from Sister Agnes’ English class.

Mrs. Jundi was my grade four and five French teacher. She was there. She had decided to be there for me right after I had lost my mother in December of grade 4. When my father was doing the heroic job at home raising my sister, brother and I, Mrs. Jundi was there for me at school. She did not say much, but somehow she kept me going. Sometimes being there for each other is all it takes.

Boutros ElZoghbi: The man who teaches with exceptional pride--The kind of pride that you cannot avoid. The kind of pride built on solid rock—thus, the name Boutros. When was the last time you played “7-stones” (Saba’ Hjara) with Jamil Sayah? Or, have you? He was the best we ever saw. The 100 km per hour tennis ball striking your legs left a good blue mark for weeks to come. Besides teaching us Arabic, it was fun having him in the playground with us.

Sarkis Mourani: The Arabic with a smile. He has a self-imposing smile that forces you to respond with another smile. I still remember seeing Sami Chaiban outside SJS. It was in Bab Idriss when I was buying a pair of shoes from Bal3a. I saw him. He spoke Arabic. Yeh! C’est pas possible. Mr. Chaiban Saar Istaz Chaibeen in one second.

Rizkallah AlGhoul: The big brother. His motto always was that straight way is the right way. Istaz Ghoul, in 1977 while I was in boarding school and against all regulations, I regularly listened to the Akhbar right before I went to sleep in the dormitory. The Allouseh I had on always disguised a little earphone plugged to the radio under my pillow.

Fouad Sayah: “Think. Think,” he would say. Nahnou narfod an nakoun mussajilat. The other lesson was: Ma tkoun fater. Those are two of the most important lessons I still carry until today.

Hala Skaf: Mathematics with a heart! Along with Magid Sakr, our physics teacher, she had a lot to do with my going into engineering. She worried about our families and we did the same for her relatives in Marje3youn.

Saouma BouJaoude: My mentor, my science teacher, my academic principal, and the one who got me hooked on Gebran ou AlAkhawein Rahbani. At the time, we would discuss Jibal Assouan, Ayam Fakhreddine, ou Hala walmalek. We would argue over my favorite 4-word sentence: Michwar gina 3hadini michwar.

With time, the sentence matured and I developed a different understanding of the Mishwar of life. Some of us want to take the highway driving fast to get there; without really knowing where “there” is and others enjoy the narrow scenic mountain roads. Some want to go another 15 minutes before it all ends; others would never want to it to end. Blessed are those who understood that what is waiting after the mishwar is a wonderful gathering with friends and family that we have not seen for a long time.

Fr. Camille is the person with whom I had lots of arguments and with whom sometimes, I still do. The topics he would bring up during our afternoon religion period were so philosophical that I was left with two choices: Either to take a nap, or discuss. I discussed and argued to keep myself and other students from sleeping. I wonder, what was going on. Was it the discussion or the good lunches we used to have? Fr. Camille: The Strategic planner.

Fr. Simon: He gracefully offered his Ain Aar parish church for our wedding. When Ellen and I were going through a lot of paperwork to get married, Fr. Simon made it very simple: One phone call and we got the church. Fr. Simon: Service with charisma! Fr. Paul Sayah: I do not know what to say. He married us, Ellen and I. “Pere Paul is my friend.”

Thank you Ra’fat, Jaoudat, Shafik, Abou Youssef, Roger, Edmond, Meline, Norman, Jim, Catherine, and Miss Nelly; the one who was there for my little brother. For everyone I mentioned and for those I failed to mention: “Thank you.” You shaped me.

The late Elias Farah, with his serene clear blue eyes and a heart of gold told me last year, referring to all SJS Alumni: “Take care of each other.” Intibhou 3ala ba3dkun.

I am blessed with friends I have known at school. Some of them with whom I am still in touch. Others, I do not know where are they in their Mishwar. In general, SJS Alumni are doing fairly well. We are not making it easy for you. We lifted up the bar. You just have to jump higher.

My fellow graduates: How much has changed? You be the judge.

In 1981, we used to listen to:
You probably listen to …
We grew up on …
You have more lively tunes available.

I stood here 23 years ago and spoke on behalf of my classmates. Tonight, I shared with you small scenes of my life at SJS. There are over 5000 stories out there. Stories of students who attended SJS like you and me.

You have a priceless chance to continue your own story the way you want. I hope that you will:

parents are feeling tonight.

I know what a little picture drawn by my six-year old Nour can

do to me and to my Ellen. I know what it feels to have my

son Nadim come up with a bright idea. I know how I felt

when my son Assaad brought home his first water-color

canvas.

Fellow parents: You have done well!

When you write your story have faith in God, in Lebanon and in

yourselves.

You will be in occasions that start with Nasheed  . It is right at this moment that you should start Koulouna Lil Watan. Do not fall into the trap of mumbling or feeling embarrassed because you are the only one among a big crowd singing your national anthem. Forget elections. Forget Referendums. They were never accurate measuring instruments. The best gauge to finding out how Lebanon is doing is by measuring the percentage of people singing their national anthem in a crowd. Reclaim Lebanon to your hearts. Intishouh.

A Saint Joseph School graduate, an alumnus who I aspire to be:

Wears a winning smile

Works silently and with pride

Celebrates joyfully

Is full of passion

Thinks for herself

Enjoys the short-term and plans for the long-term

Devotes himself to helping others

Conducts herself in such a way to give more honor to the SJS

family

An SJS alumnus is a leader

Has a sharp mind

A rich soul

And a big heart

An SJS graduate is honorable

Continue your story. Continue your story so that people will remember it long after the movie is over. I was in your seat 23 years ago.

Where do you want to be in 23 years?

More importantly, What do you want to be in 23 years?

You have a responsibility to make an even better name for Saint Joseph School. Whatever we as alumni have done before you; do it better. You have a major responsibility and you have no choice about it. You cannot change your name. Mazbout? Same thing: You cannot change where you went to School. It is part of your history. It is part of you. We are all one family. “We’re watching you.” Make us proud.

I am proud to be part of the Saint Joseph School community.

My story does not and should not end here. Sayyidna: I do not know you. I know about Archbishop Youssef Bechara, the person whose fruits speak for themselves. I would like you to be part of my continuing SJS experience. I would like to get to know Abouna Youssef. I invite myself to you. I will bring the wine, the fresh bread and the cheese. You pick the time and the place.

My fellow alumni: I wish you serenity, passion in life and an enjoyable Mishwar. Don’t forget to turn off the air-conditioner and let the fresh breeze strike your face every now and then. Come back home to SJS every now and then. If you’re happy, come back home. If you’re sad, come back home. Come back, go to the sacristy, take a sip of wine and pray. It works. It really does work!

I am Tony Feghali: Humbled and honored to be part of Saint Joseph School.

Allah Ma3kun 

 

Dr. Tony Feghali
President
feghali@aub.edu.lb