“I was convinced the world knew only how to take, but I’m learning every single day that it still has something left to give.”

Omar Prekazi sat in front of me on a cracked leather couch in Langschoss Refugee Camp in Lammersdorf, Germany—a clear cup of water balanced on his knee. I asked the middle-aged Syrian Kurd cautiously whether he would explicate on his journey to Germany. Prekazi stared blankly at the wall behind me as he told me the story of how he watched a terrorist murder his oldest son, and how days later, he had found the remains of his daughter in the woods by his home. In the heart of the chaos of war, he had lost everything and everyone he loved.

Yet coming to Germany gave him a second chance at life— a home, a job, and the opportunity to abandon the country that had taken his children from him.

Prekazi now lives in a two-building refugee camp in West Germany with his wife and surviving son. As they try to piece together their lives and recover from their tragedy, their asylum in Germany has proved to be a transforming force.

Langschoss Refugee Camp was a U.S. army base during the occupation of Germany following World War II. Nowadays, instead of being filled with men in uniforms, its hallways are bustling with natives of the Middle East and Africa, seeking solace from war-torn lands. Though two families reside in Langschoss, the Prekazis included, its occupants are mostly single males in their twenties and thirties.

The facility is nestled in a vast forest five miles from the nearest village. With 36 bedrooms, a communal living area and a sizable kitchen, it provides an isolated, yet comfortable residence for the refugees. Meanwhile, the nearby town of Lammersdorf has gone to considerable lengths to assimilate the newcomers into their community and to provide them with comforts, such as donated bicycles and televisions.

My first visit to Langschoss occurred on the last day of Ramadan, when Muslims were celebrating the end of a period of fasting with a delicious meal cooked by Syrian Ali Rade. Yet despite the religious occasion, no conflict or confrontation occurred between Sunnis and Shias or Muslims and Christians. I, plagued with the Western belief that religion is a severely contested issue, was shocked to find homogeneity and acceptance within those walls. As I ate Rade’s yellow rice and chatted with 15-year-old Irani Shiar Mostafi about his favorite soccer players, my notions of the hostility found among refugees as championed by the American media fell to the floor.

Politicians and the media will tell you that refugees are a threat to the security of developed nations. They will tell you that all asylees are radicalized and fervent with religious hatred. And if not this, they will tell you that refugees just are not worth the sacrifice it takes to give them a new life.

I am ashamed that, even for a moment, I let the words of demagogic politicians who have never actually encountered refugees influence my opinion of them. Because as I sat between a Syrian and an Iraqi, I did not notice the violence I was told I would see, but only the respect and dignity I was granted.

That evening, the Langschoss inhabitants were joined by teenagers from the nearby town who sat in the communal areas and jokingly asked the refugees to translate German curse words to Arabic.

“I love visiting [Langschoss] because it’s so interesting to see other cultures,” Alina Wingels, a 16-year-old from nearby Simmerath, said. “The boys are so nice, and they always have fascinating things to say.”

The German natives have rallied around the asylees, providing them with numerous integration opportunities. Elisabeth Schurrle, a nearby schoolteacher, teaches them German and English; Stefan Bender, a retired businessman, leads a hiking group; and Michel Trapp, my grandfather, drives a bus full of refugees to basketball and soccer practice.

“I’m the best soccer player,” Mostafi said. “I’m like the Syrian Cristiano Ronaldo.”

I decided to test my skills at basketball practice one Thursday only to learn that not all Germans are accepting of the newcomers.

Umar Abad, a Ghanaian asylee, had unintentionally run into a tall German player wearing a Dirk Nowitzki jersey, only to be pushed to the ground violently. The man screamed, “You damn refugee! What are you even doing in this country?”

Clearly, the assimilation of the refugees is not seamless. It is not ideal. Though the refugees might be running from fear and towards safety, they are not always caught with open arms.

Meanwhile, these xenophobic undertones and assimilation issues are far more prominent in urban areas than rural ones like Langschoss.

For one, a lack of space in larger cities prohibits successful unification of cultures.

“When a lot of the refugees came to Germany, there wasn’t enough room, so they were staying in the gym at my school,” Tabea Jungclaus, a German 14-year-old from the metropolis of Düsseldorf said. “We couldn’t have gym class inside for a while, but now they’ve found a place for them all.”

Other Germans worry about the expenses and logistics associated with Chancellor Angela Merkel’s policy of admitting 800,000 refugees.

“I just don’t think that some cultures are compatible, and the government is doing nothing to monitor the refugees,” Gaby Valliere, a retired schoolteacher, said. “They just stick them in a house and give them some money. The volunteers are the ones who do all of the integration programs and help them find jobs. It’s just a recipe for disaster.”

Germany has opened its doors to the masses and seen the bliss and the terror that can accompany demographic changes. Following several terrorist attacks in Munich and Augsburg, some Germans are starting to wonder whether the asylum system can be exploited by terrorists and whether it is too late to change anything now.

Yet if I learned anything from my time at Langschoss, it’s that refugees aren’t just numbers we can list off, dehumanize and generalize without meeting—they are people with fear and with pain. Accepting asylees is never easy, but for every single one of them, it is worth it.

Today, I will never forget the despondency in Omar Prekazi’s eyes when he spoke of his past, and the promise he saw in his future.