Meet my new friend. He is 24 years old, from Afghanistan. The sweetest young man. He was working for the US Military in Afghanistan as a translator. His father was an army general. Together they were fighting the Taliban. The Taliban killed many of his family members. He loves Americans even though his brother was killed by a bomb from an American fighter jet. He told me many stories about the American team he worked with, like the time they all got into a car and there was a bomb attached to it and it split open his stomach (he showed me the scar in the picture below), and took the arm and leg of one of the American soldiers he was working with.

Here is a war hero -- working with America -- fighting alongside them, against terrorism. And now the American soldiers are home (as they should be!) and he is here.

He can't go back, he can't stay here. Where can he go?

It's times like these I wish I had something to say - some words of hope, promise of justice, a satisfying explanation for the policies of our country - but all I can do is apologize over and again and offer my own small friendship as I reach inside for words and find only silence, pain, and prayers for a better world.

Every day I am inspired beyond belief by the new friends I make here.

(He gave permission to share his story)



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