This essay, as told, is based on a conversation with Daniel Beiler, 33, an emergency medical technician who has volunteered in several war zones with his wife and children.
The following has been edited for length and clarity.
I grew up with this deep desire to travel, to see the world and to do great things.
I grew up in an Amish community in Pennsylvania, and one of the reasons I left was my desire to travel.
My wife and I were newly married when we retired and were trying to figure out what life was like without the restrictions of the Amish system.
We ended up in Iraq ten weeks after our wedding.
It was the fall of 2014, when the Islamic State crisis was at its peak.
They roamed northern Iraq killing, slaughtering, raping and brutalizing people.
There was an organization there that was responding to the refugee crisis. We thought, “Sure, why not?”
I sent them an email about the job opportunity, and we left after a week and a half.
I had never flown before this trip.
Displaced Yazidis fleeing ISIS near the Sinjar Mountains in northern Iraq in 2014. Rodi Said/Reuters
We worked on an unfinished housing project near the Sinjar Mountains in northern Iraq, about 20 or 30 minutes from the fighting.
We distributed things like food and heaters, and prepared houses for winter.
Most of these people still had family members who had just been captured by ISIS and who were very traumatized.
I developed a deep love and compassion for people who are suffering, and to this day, that is a large part of what motivates me.
Moving from crisis to crisis
The Beiler family in Dnipro, Ukraine. Jessica Melanson
Over the years, we have moved to another country eight times, with stints in places like Bolivia, Syria and Ukraine.
We moved not knowing if it would last two months or five years – we probably spent several years living out of a suitcase.
There are times when it’s a little lean and times when it’s not. There’s definitely a sacrifice to be made.
In 2022, when the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began, I moved my family there.
At one point, I spent ten weeks conducting medical evacuations for the Ukrainian armed forces. It was a high-intensity mission: my colleagues and I were targeted and bombed many times.
Learning to manage fear
One day in the winter of 2022, we were distributing supplies in a frontline village.
We had four vehicles and about seven people. I had spread out and hidden our vehicles so that in case of a bombing we wouldn’t be crowded together. But then one of the guys got on the radio and said that a rocket had fallen about 30 meters from him.
Suddenly, rockets were landing everywhere.
I am still very religious and I always believed that God would take care of us. But now I was no longer sure that God would come to my rescue.
It took me about 20 seconds to recalibrate and deal with it. It didn’t last very long, but I could barely handle the fear after that.
I was bombed so many times in Ukraine that I felt comfortable knowing they were trying to kill me.
Villages like this one in Dnipropetrovsk, shown as an illustration, are under heavy Russian fire in Ukraine. Medical evacuation services often offer residents a way out of the area. Ukrainian National Emergency Service via Reuters
Family life in a war zone
I had a wife and four small children when we were abroad – now I have five. I took my family to Iraq, Baghdad, Mosul, Ukraine.
What makes me want to take this risk? That’s a good question.
First, we don’t want to be separated for months, and I’m called to this kind of work.
It comes down to my love for people, the belief that every person deserves to experience the dignity and freedom of walking with God.
My family lives in a relatively safe place, away from the fighting, while I go out and work on the front lines.
The children are 8, 6, 4, 1 and 2 months old. Thanks to what we have done, their vision of the world is very broad. It is very different from that of most people.
When we lived in Iraq, there were a lot of checkpoints and the Iraqi soldiers made a lot of fuss about our children.
For them, the gunmen, the tanks and the Humvees were just a happy memory.
The kids have grown up, they’ve adapted. They realize that if a bomb lands nearby, things can get out of hand and they run, all excited, because a bomb has gone off.
Life at home during the war
My wife is very committed to the work and its mission. In each of these places, she takes care of the children’s homeschooling and creates a home. She creates a nice place for us to come back to.
My colleagues and I were on the front lines for two, three, four days in a row, we were cold, we were covered in mud, we were miserable, we were being bombed. And when we came back, we lived in a big house where we took showers, where there was a family working and where we were given hot food.
It’s worth a lot there.
Yes, there are some risks, but the rewards of having that family experience – and seeing people light up when they see a family come and hand out food, preach, or just hug them – are game-changing for them.
ISIS took control of Mosul, Iraq in the summer of 2014. Image used for illustration purposes. STRINGER Iraq via Reuters
When we were working in Iraq, we would go to the city of Mosul, which at night was partially controlled by ISIS.
I arrived there shortly after dawn with my family to do some administrative work in government offices. I knew that some of the men there might be ISIS members.
The police chief looked at me and my family and said, “Now I know you really care about us. Because you are willing to bring your most precious possessions to this place.”
And that’s part of what characterizes us.
We want people to know that the outside world cares about them and has not forgotten them.
Take root
My wife and I have talked about the idea of putting down roots.
She recognizes that our lives call us to do these kinds of things. But we both don’t know what to do with her, she’s the kind of person who could live on the same land for the next 60 years.
For me it’s just boring. The world is big.
Usually we talk about it, we think about it, we pray about it. And we don’t move until she’s on board.
If she’s not on board, we’re not moving. That’s our commitment. We both have to agree before we make a move.
Children don’t necessarily have a stable community, but their community is still there when they come back.
An Amish farmer drives a cultivator in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, the area where Beiler grew up. Ted Shaffrey via AP Photo
Our lives have taken a little different turn over the past month.
We are now in Idaho — we got rid of our house and belongings and moved into a camper.
I will be providing emergency medical services to firefighters battling the massive wildfires in this area.
Before every move, we always ask the kids what they want to do, and they always want to go to the next crazy place. They love doing that stuff.
They’ve been doing this since they were born. Staying in the same property for 20 years is not a thing.
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