I have to confess I was surprised to see Hawah Altoum’s  radiant smile, her struggles right now our so great I think few people would be able to smile in the midst of them.

Her husband is on life support and may never come home, she is living in a  homeless shelter she calls “the dirtiest place on the earth,” her family lost everything through no fault of their own as the result of the endless and devastating conflict wracking the Middle East. She is alone  on the other side of the earth from her home and family.

Hawah didn’t want to be photographed, few Muslim women do, it is often considered shameless and immoral in their countries. Hawah is strong, and that is good, because she will need to be strong.

A friend asked me this morning how can I sit and listen to these stories without crying.

I am grateful to have been a reporter in my previous life, and I saw too many awful things to cry over any of them after a while. When I see Hawah, I do not see a victim or a lost soul, I see a strong and resilient and uncomplaining person who just needs a hand from other human beings. Once she gets stabilized, she will take it from there.

Every morning at 4 a.m., she gets up and goes outside to collect bottles and turn them in at a grocery recycling center. She usually gets between $5 and $6. She offered to pay me back with her bottle money. I said no.

This work keeps me on the ground, I keep my perspective. I often think of the people who lose their dogs who complain and mourn much more bitterly and continuously than people who lose their lives and  homes.

I have only one unbreakable rule in this work: images.

The people who need help must agree to be photographed.

This is hard on the Muslim women, and I sometimes wobble, but so far, I have insisted upon it and held my ground. I think it is critical to this work that people see the faces fo the people they are sending money to help. This way, it becomes real to them, to you, to me.

But it has been difficult and troubling.

Hawah said she didn’t want to be photographed, and I put the camera down and said,  while Ali translated:

“Hawah, I can appreciate how you feel and I’m sorry to put pressure on you, but I have to insist if you want my help. It is important that the people who send money to help know who you are and what you look like. I don’t want them to take my word for it, I want them to see it. We live in a suspicious and alienated world, it is important. This is how I earn  trust. It makes my work possible. It  also makes my work credible and comprehensible.

I don’t ask people to send money to institutions, but to people, they know just where their money goes and what it is for. With a photography, you are not just a refugee, you are Hawah. In America, we are an open culture, and this is something  you will have to decide for yourself. But I do need to take your picture.”

That is my contract, this is my commitment. Some of the people at RISSE, the refugee and immigrant center,  were upset with me, they insisted that all donations go to them directly, so they can decide where the money goes in their own way and time. I refused, I have to account for this money, I have to know where it goes and that it goes where it should go. And it needs to be done quickly. That’s my contract with the Army Of Good. I can’t break it.

Hawah looked at me for a moment, then nodded and smiled at me. “Okay,” she told Ali, “I am good.” And she looked straight into the camera and smiled, as strong women do.

She said she hadn’t quite understood the point of photography, why it was necessary. This was not shameful, she said, and then asked to pose with Ali. I felt I had broken through.

But it is hard to set any conditions. Hawah has suffered enough for several lifetimes. She fled Libya with her family during the 2011 civil war to keep her sons out of the military. They took her house and life savings.

This  talk with Hawah was important, and I felt good about it.

She has to be  herself, and I have to be myself. She got that, and that is a part of learning how to give help and how to get help. I posted about Hawah last night, and this morning, there were $500 in contributions to her new apartment rent help. She has enough to get an apartment for a couple of months, I am hoping for $1,300 more so we can give her the difference between what she has and what she needs to rent a new apartment for a year with her reduced subsidy.

In the short run, Hawah needs to get out of that shelter. She wants to find work, she is looking for a job every day. She is taking English classes, which will help her find one.

Before her husband got ill with terminal spinal cancer, Albany city welfare officials (DSS) were paying her $850 rent. When her husband was transferred to a rehab center, DSS cut her subsidy to help pay for his care. She was almost instantly evicted – she was $150 short. We are hoping to pay for that shortfall for a one year.

She is not seeking any additional assistance – she says food stamps are enough – nor are we offering any other help. She is proud and independent, this is the first time she has ever asked for  help in her life. It is imperative to meet and write about the refugees, they are good and honest and hard-working people, not “animals” as the President of our country referred to them in a meeting yesterday.

They are no threat to us, and I am proud and humbled to know them and to try to help. I see that I am always a bit anxious when I ask other people for money.  Will the well dry up? Will people tire of this work and their own sacrifices? Maria laughs at me, you always get what you need, she said. I suppose that is true, and thanks.

If you wish to contribute, you can send a payment to me via Paypal, [email protected] or to my post office Box, Jon Katz, P.O. Box, 205, Cambridge, N.Y. Please mark your payments “Hawah” and thank you.