Manhal Shallal thought he had left Iraq behind. During 45 days of constant bombing when coalition forces first invaded Iraq in the winter of 1991, the dark-haired, bright-eyed boy had witnessed three of his best friends die after being showered with shrapnel.

“I saw them drop … ” Manhal looked off to the side as he recalled the moment. “It made me feel like I should get out of there.”

Before long, Manhal’s father, Sabah, began planning his family’s escape. He realized that his son’s life would be in grave danger if he didn’t dodge the Iraqi draft.

“You’re not going to join the Iraq military because we may never see you,” Sabah told his son.

So, a day before Manhal turned 18, Sabah secretly picked up his family and made the costly and dangerous 14-hour drive to the U.S. embassy in neighboring Jordan.

The Shallals left behind their home and business properties. But they eventually made it, together, to their new life in America, near Sterling Heights, where they didn’t have to worry about car explosions, suicide bombers or kidnappings. Through hard work and determination, they achieved the American dream — without seed money to get started in their new life.

“We went from zero to a lot better,” Manhal says.

Today all four children have college degrees. And Manhal has his own family, two homes, and a stable job. And yet, he’s willing to risk it all to go back to Iraq.

“If I don’t do it, who will?” he asks.

It is a story that begins full of hope. Manhal is one of a unique group of individuals whose stories few Americans know — the Iraqi-American translators. They are men and women between two worlds. They are Americanized after years of U.S. citizenship, but drawn to their homeland. They are civilians often in the thick of military action. Their reasons for joining U.S. forces are straight forward.

“If I don’t go and become that bridge and make sure that Americans are treating Iraqis the way they should be treated, and try to interpret the culture and the social structure to U.S. soldiers, then who else is going to do it?” Manhal questions.

Yes, he’s one of thousands helping people in Iraq rebuild their lives. But, perhaps, there are none more committed than Manhal, a man making a difference at great personal sacrifice.

Manhal first signed as a translator for U.S. forces back in 2003. One month before Saddam’s regime collapsed, he found himself back in Iraq, this time working side-by-side with American soldiers on a U.S. base. It had been six years since he left his childhood home.

“When I got (to Baghdad), I got down and kissed the soil,” he said. “Some soldiers thought I was getting too emotional, some panicked when they saw me doing that. But later they understood.”

They understood the thought of returning to Iraq never frightened Manhal. They understood he was there to help his country to a new, brighter future, offering himself as a go-between to U.S. soldiers and diplomats to help them communicate with the locals. And Manhal understood the risk involved.

How much risk? Well, since 2003, there have been dozens – if not hundreds – of translators abducted, maimed, and murdered by insurgents, which is why he didn’t want to be photographed for this interview.

That fate nearly befelled Manhal on his second assignment in Iraq last year, while working as a translator for Global Linguist Solutions. Equipped with full body armor and a helmet, he was tagging along on foot patrols on Baghdad’s hostile southern outskirts, interacting one-on-one with the Iraqi people, when a roadside bomb exploded some 50 feet away. The force of the blast sent Manhal to the ground, damaging his ribs and tailbone. He returned to America injured.

“But I wanted to go back,” he said without hesitation.

At that point, you find out that Manhal’s capacity for pain and loss is astonishing. He has bitter memories of fear from his childhood; memories of the terror caused by bombs; of the kidnapped, tortured, and murdered friends; of injuries; of the bitter disappointment and burning outrage he felt when he left his home as a teenager.

And yet, he has decided to turn his pain into something positive by helping U.S. troops communicate effectively with Iraqis.

“When we go to a town,” Manhal says, “the second they hear we speak their language, they welcome us. Their eyes glow. Once they’re relieved, then you can talk to them. If they’re approached by American forces only, they’ll be frightened and very defensive because they don’t know what the Americans are there for. But once they see an interpreter, they’re willing to help.”

There would have been no progress, and likely more American dead, had it not been for Iraqi-Americans like Manhal, who believed in the cause.

“You’re bridging two cultures,” he says.

Manhal does his job so well that he’ll be leaving for Iraq, again, a few short days from now. And, once again, he’ll adjust to Iraq, like his family adjusts to life without him – again. His wife has given birth to their son and daughter during his assignments in Iraq.

“It’s tough,” he says. “But I try to compensate by taking them on vacation. I do whatever it takes to make sure they don’t miss me, even though I miss them a lot.”

Manhal says his sacrifice is all part his mission: Working to bring a better future to Iraq.

But when is his work done?

“As long as the Iraqis are calling for help, then I feel my job isn’t done,” he says.*