The steady clip of arrivals con-
tinued at the turn of the century,
as Italian immigrants fl eeing pov-
erty eventually outpaced the rush
of newcomers from Ireland. Jews
also started coming to the city,
escaping persecution in Central
Europe. Ethnic enclaves in Man-
hattan swelled and then thinned
out with the implementation of a
series of restrictive policies that
culminated in the Immigration Act
of 1924. (Exceptions were made for
the hundreds of thousands who
came from Germany and Austria in
the aftermath of World War II.) The
numbers of new arrivals started to
rise again with the passing of the
Immigration and Naturalization
Act of 1965, which aimed to com-
bat racial discrimination and put an
end to quotas based on nationali-
ty. In the 1970s, immigrants came
from the Dominican Republic, the
Caribbean and China, revitalizing
neighborhoods and pushing the
city toward economic recovery. The
United States established a formal
refugee-resettlement program in
1980, and in the late 1980s and early
1990s, people from the collapsing
Soviet Union fl owed in.
The resettlement system was
designed to approve new refugees
before they entered the United
States. The program would then
place people with an agency able
to assist with fi nding housing and
accessing social services, and pro-
vide them with money for their fi rst
three months in the country. But in
2021, as an emergency measure fol-
lowing the United States withdrawal
from Afghanistan, the Biden admin-
istration allowed Afghan evacuees to
enter the country with expedited pro-
cessing under humanitarian parole
— a legal status that does not include
a path to citizenship. Once here,
evacuees were off ered resettlement
services, a total of $1,225 in direct aid
and could apply for expedited work
authorization, which is not available
to parolees from other countries.
‘‘The first year of the Biden
administration, there wasn’t a
huge bump in refugee arrivals
partly because of the pandemic
and partly because we’re building
back capacity,’’ said Alex Caudill, the
assistant director at the New York
chapter of HIAS, formerly known
as the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Soci-
ety, the oldest refugee-resettlementShvetsova, co-founder of a group
supporting Ukrainian immigrants
to the United States. ‘‘If you go to a
hospital, it will cost you a literal for-
tune. We’re talking about the really
complex systems of public support.
They don’t make it easy to access.’’
The fact that Khurami and Jamal-
zada were able to land in New
York with a network of people and
resources was the product of what
Khurami calls ‘‘chance and destiny.’’
At fi rst they followed an acquain-
tance to Rochester, N.Y., where
hundreds of evacuees had settled.
Khurami’s passport had expired,
and he was still wearing borrowed
clothing. Their work authorization
was delayed by a clerical error. They
relied on community support and
resettlement money to make ends
meet. It was through their own vol-
unteer work for a Rochester-based
resettlement group that the couple
met Holly Rosen Fink, co-founder
of Westchester Jewish Coalition
for Immigration. The three of them
went out for coff ee, and it was clear,
Fink said, that Khurami and Jamalz-
ada wanted to move.
‘‘We loved Rochester,’’ Khurami
said. ‘‘But for big dreams, you need
to go to a big city.’’
Fink helped found Neighbors
for Refugees in 2016 and then start-
ed the Westchester Jewish Coali-
tion for Immigration three years
later, aiming to mobilize volunteer
groups and sources of funding.
‘‘We are very much a connector,’’
she said. The group paired with
another refugee organization in the
Bronx to help Khurami and Jamal-
zada fi nd an apartment, and Fink
contacted Neighbors for Refugees.
Many landlords in New York City
require proof that a tenant makes
an annual income 40 times higher
than the monthly rent. Neighbors
for Refugees would not only co-sign
the lease; they would also help the
couple pay rent during their fi rst few
months. Now, nearly 10 months after
fl eeing Kabul, Khurami and Jamalz-
ada could fi nally settle down.Across the city from where Khu-
rami and Jamalzada were selecting
their new Bronx apartment, Tetiana
Arsirii was living in a studio with her
parents and her 10-year-old daughter,agency in the country. ‘‘The crisis
with Afghanistan put everything
else on hold. It really challenged
the refugee-resettlement system.’’
To accommodate the numbers,
Biden made it possible for com-
munity organizations or groups of
at least fi ve individuals to sponsor
an evacuee, but they would have
to raise resettlement funds them-
selves. Agencies across the country
also started leaning more heavily on
community groups. Local organiza-
tions help pay rent and fi nd doctors
and place children in schools. And
for the most part, the assistance they
off er extends past the initial three
months of resettlement aid.
New York City has continued to
provide services for new arrivals even
as national policies have made it more
diffi cult. Immigrants of any status are
entitled to New York City IDs, which
can be used to apply for benefi ts and
to access city services. But without a
formal network to help them apply
for health insurance, food-assistance
programs or preschool, many immi-
grants simply don’t fi nd out about
those services. ‘‘Sometimes it’s real-
ly hard to talk to newly arrived ref-
ugees about health care,’’ said Anya↑Above and opening pages: Tetiana Arsirii and her daughter, Karolina. The New York Times Magazine P. 49