Good morning, Hankets Tuesday. Yesterday was World Refugee Day, so I thought I'd share a story of a family I met while I was in Jordan. Mufak, Nada, and their five kids. Mufak was trained as a butcher, but he'd become a successful entrepreneur in Syria, but then he had to leave everything behind in 2012 to escape the fighting, and after four years in Jordan, where refugees are not legally allowed to work, the family's savings were depleted. But when I met them back in February, they were excited because they were about to be resettled in the United States, specifically Rockford, Illinois. You may have heard it's easy for Syrian refugees to get approved to live in the US, but it's just not. There are many, many layers of background checks involving all kinds of investigations from iris scans to finger printing to lots and lots and lots of interviews. In the case of this family, all told it took more than two years, but at last they'd been approved. We've never been to the US before. Mufak told me, we're very excited. We can't wait. Not a told me, I hope Americans will welcome us. I hope we do not disappoint you. So a couple weeks ago, Rosiana and I went to Rockford to catch up with the family. Like magazine once said, Rockford is as nearly typical of the US as any city can be. You know, it's the kind of place where downtown there's a statue of a white guy holding fireworks in an American flag. It was great to see the family again, and we enjoyed an immense and delicious lunch together, but the dislocation of the move had clearly been difficult. From the language to the weather, from the healthcare system to the grocery store to the appliances, everything was different. Nata explained one profound change to me. In Jordan, she said, if we needed to go to a shop, we would find public transportation. Here we have to have a car or know someone who has a car. She began to cry as she told me she missed her family and was struggling to get used to life so far from them. Her son comforted her and then told me, mom also cries whenever messy scores. Everyone in the family is taking English classes. Mufak will soon begin working as a butcher. The kids are in summer school and starting to learn to read and write in English. In short, the situation is complicated and hard and hopeful, like a lot of our lives. But I'd argue that in every way, socially, politically, economically, we are lucky to have this family in our country. To be a refugee is to be politicized too often, we're told that because of their ethnicity or religion, refugees are threats that our civilization is fundamentally incompatible with their civilization. But of course, that imagines culture as a discrete, unchanging unit, which it isn't, and it also ignores the facts. The fact, for instance, that American soldiers in the Revolutionary War included Yusuf Ben Ali and Bumpet Muhammad. And the fact that today more than 3 million Americans are Muslims from Dave Chappelle to the owner of the Jacksonville Jaguires to my US Congressman, Andre Carson. Not a told me she hopes not to disappoint us. Well, I in turn hope we do not disappoint her. When I asked one of not as nephews, who's been in the US for almost a year, what he liked most about his new home, he said, the law. At first, the translator and I were both confused. We thought he was saying the Arabic word for God, but he was saying the law, which had not existed in Syria, and which had prevented him from working in Jordan, was what he liked most about the United States. His family did not come here to change the law. They came to be protected by it. Hey, class week UNHCR launched a global campaign called Weed Refugees, asking people to stand with refugees by signing a petition, calling on governments around the world to one, ensure every refugee child gets an education. Two, ensure every refugee family has somewhere safe to live. And three, ensure every refugee can work or learn new skills to make a positive contribution to their community. I hope you'll join me in signing that petition. There's a link in the doobly-doo below. And just one last thing, that statue in downtown Rockford of the white guy with the flag and the fireworks, his name is Joe Marino. His parents immigrated to the United States from Italy in a time when many Americans believe that Italian Catholics, with their loyalty to the Pope, could never be real Americans participating in a democracy. And now Joe Marino is a symbol of Americanness to the people of Rockford. We contain multitudes, which has always strengthened us. Hank, I'll see you on Friday.