Human beings protect other human beings, in no small part because we taking-care-of people will one day be we-need-help people.

But does a take-care-of-others rule have limits? It appears it does, and it seems to be a slight disagreement over the word “neighbor.”

Circa 1970 with the Viet Nam war playing in the background, I asked my father, a WWII vet and evangelical Christian, how he reconciled Jesus’ “love thy neighbor as thyself” commandment with going to war and killing strangers.

His answer: “They’re not my neighbor.”

Wars must sometimes be fought, and this isn’t an anti-war or anti-religion message. It’s simply this: Americans’ interpretation of Donald Trump’s refugee ban may depend on their definition of “neighbor.”

The people who live next door are neighbors. The people in our community and town – the ones we bump into at the supermarket and cheer with at high school football games – are neighbors. The people in our state? Yes. Other Americans? Of course. We fight shoulder-to-shoulder with them in the military.

But then what? Are Canadians and Mexicans neighbors? Do we consider Brits neighbors because they also speak English? Are Puerto Ricans living in a quasi-U.S. territory neighbors, or does unofficial statehood rob them of their neighbor badge?

And how about Syrians, some of whom bomb markets and some of whom suffer and die simply because they’re passionate about democracy and won’t tow the party line? Or, in some cases, children?

No, I hear my father saying. No, the Syrians are not our neighbors. And if they’re not our neighbors, we owe them nothing. If we cross the road and offer them metaphorical drink and food, it’s because we’re good people, not because we have an obligation. Our humanity, our generosity, is reserved for people physically close or similar to ourselves – people we can count on when we’re down.

Will we be safer if we ban not-like-us immigrants? Probably not.

But here’s the thing: We also won’t be Americans.

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