Today was a landmark day for me and my friendship with the Miller Family, my new Amish neighbors, and the home of my friend Moise.

I brought them prints of four photographs that the children had especially admired, and I hired one of Miller’s sons – Jonah – to make a picture frame for me, the photograph of the family planting onions on the hillside. That’s going on my study wall.

I am, as you know, a photographer and a writer, and both things have become equally important to me. Writing is what I feel about the world; photography is how I see the world.

I capture what I see and feel in words; the photographs support and confirm what the words say.

I document in pictures everything I write in words – every act of kindness, every refugee child, every doctor, every animal on the farm, every dog, my wife Maria, and the fascinating people I meet in my community.

The pictures reinforce and give credibility to my writing, since I photograph everything I write about and every good deed we do. My photography is central to trust, the bond I wish to have with my readers.

When I first met Moise and Barbara – they came to our house to introduce themselves – I asked how they felt about my taking pictures.  I had done some homework and found that like many other rules that seemed rigid to the outside world but that a seminal trait of the Amish faith – of Gellassenheit, the core value of the Amish – was often creatively applied and flexible.

Moise said they didn’t permit photographs of their faces, the Bible forbids it.

Yet clearly, there were some photographs that were not forbidden – I see them online and in books all the time.

To my surprise, the Amish are not rigid; their authority is softer and constantly being adjusted to change. They are patriarchy, but not tyranny.

Moise understood that taking pictures is important to me, and I understood that identifiable images of faces made him uncomfortable, but silhouettes, photographs taken from the rear, or from a distance did not.

Whenever I came over, the children would swarm around my phone to see images of themselves, in horse carts, plowing, from a distance. I saw that Barbara and Moise had no objection at all to these photos; I asked them a score of times before I relaxed about it.

The Amish make a point of not hating much of anything but arrogance war, and self-promotion. They come into conflict with local officials and inspectors all the time.

They do not sure or write angry op-eds; they find a way to work it out. They pride themselves on always working things out.

Moise is fond of stories that recount some of his many battles with authorities overbuilding or schooling or other issues. In every case, he says proudly; they found a way to work it out.

He never brags or blusters.

The same turned out to be true with me and my photography, as Moise sensed right away that I was determined and that he would like to have me in his life and his family’s life.

Over the first month of our friendship, I would ask permission for every photograph I took anywhere near the family or his farm. Once a week, I invited him to come to my study and sit with me and see every printed word and every photograph I had taken.

He objected to none of them. Is this okay,? I kept asking. He kept smiling and nodding and puffing on his corncob pipe.

The Amish prohibition of photography is meant to accomplish two things: first, it helps to stifle individualism and build community solidarity.

Secondly, it helps to establish the Amish as distinct individuals, different from everyone else,  even though it is baffling to the English, as they call us.

The Amish worry that photographs can spark pride, and pride elevates individuals above the community. Then there is the Bible, which commands, “You shall not make for yourself a graven image or a likeness of anything.” The aversion to photographs was a way of suppressing pride following a Biblical injunction

Strictly speaking, non-Amish people have no Amish friends, not in the sense that we use the term. Their close and trusted relationships come from within the community and the church.

Everyone else is an outsider. Some get in for specific reasons.

If you delve into Amish culture more closely – I did – you discover that it takes  outside friends for an Amish community to survive, and they know it. They need people to drive, make phone calls, rush their children to the hospital, to search online for goods or materials. They use our phones, freezer space, and the Internet.

They don’t have electricity, but they will use mine.

They don’t have computers, but they are happy to look over my shoulder and use mine.

These are not contradictions; they are surprisingly thoughtful and considered ways of keeping American technology from overwhelming their children and communities, as it has done to so many others.

They really don’t hate technology; they want to think about it and slow the pace.

In exchange, there is vegetables, fruit, and some dessert. The wife of Moise’s brother-in-law is making me an Amish straw hat.

I don’t expect to hang around with them outside of their work or mine. They don’t do that.  They hang around with each other outside of work.

My friendship with Moise centers around the time we spend when I drive him somewhere, which is often.

I certainly feel that we are friends but in a bounded and controlled way. I know that if I offended their values or threatened the children’s attitudes (I know someone who slipped an Amish child an Iphone),  I wouldn’t hear from him or them again. No discussion, no drama.

Our friendship is not purely transactional, although it can seem that way.

But I know I have been and can be helpful to them in elemental ways. If a relative dies or a family emergency pops up, I get the phone call. If something has to be copied, I get a visit. If something needs to be ordered urgently and online, I’m the one who does it.

Moise has also made it clear that he and his children are available to help me at any time and in any way, from stacking wood to cleaning gutters to crafting anything made of wood. Moise also loves to barter.

He is also Old Amish, one of the most conservative wings of the Amish Church. He will never stray too far from the values of his community.

The Amish believe that proud individuals put their names on everything,  draw attention to themselves, and take personal credit for everything. The humble individual, by contrast, freely gives time and effort to strengthen the community and, in the spirit of Gelassenheit, avoids or declines public recognition.

Moses is happy to see his donuts and blueberries on my blog, but he wouldn’t want to see his words or face there. The first helps support his family and community; the second is arrogant and self-promoting.

The Amish don’t do public relations of any sort. They are happy to have people imagining and wondering about them.

In a sense, the photography was a barter. I got to take my photos; they got certain kinds of help when they need it. I also believe – I feel this strongly – that Moise respects me and what I need. He’s asked me a lot about that.

So I got a good look at the Amish way. Work it out. Listen. Be Humble. Subordinate your own needs to the needs of others. That’s for real.

As I left their house today, I saw all of the Amish children gathered in a circle around my pictures, pointing to them, commenting on them, studying them.

Helping them see their world clearly and from a different perspective seemed like a healthy thing.

I’m eager to see what kind of picture frame Jonah makes for me.

I’m curious to see if the girls and boys in the family keep on seeing the photos I take and have some printed for them.

I know it won’t go on the walls – there are no photos on Amish walls., that is forbidden.

But I think the children would look at the photos once in a while and get a perspective on them and their lives from the outside. To me, it’s a wonderful trade.

My pictures are in just the right place, doing just the right thing.