Maybe Washing Dishes Was the Most Important Work We Did

The state can give material help, but only personal relationships can supply the most basic human need.

Last week we said goodbye to the two families of Afghan refugees that our little community group has been sponsoring for the past four months: six children, ages three to ten, and four parents, including one pregnant mother. The houses where they were staying are only a block or two from here; I can see one of the houses from my window as I write this, and on the warmer of these spring days, you could tell when the children got home from school because you could hear them yelling to one another as they ran their scooters around the driveway. If I walked down the street and they saw me, they would call out, “Hello, Julie papa! Hello, Julie papa!” (they knew me as my daughter Julia’s father) until I waved back at them, to which they would respond: “Good morning, nice to meet you! Spaghetti! Pizza!”

Now the houses are silent; the families are up in Bloomington, living with relatives in a small apartment complex sandwiched between the airport and the Mall of America. Their departure was messy and abrupt, precipitated by miscommunication and pent-up frustrations, as well as their desire to be attached to a larger Afghan community.