On a recent sweltering day, Amin Jafari and his wife Masooma watched their three young children play in a neighborhood park in Dorchester and worried about the news coming from Afghanistan. With the Taliban now in control of the country, and U.S. forces preparing to exit, they fear their parents and siblings left behind will be trapped.

The young family came to the United States last year and Jafari now has a night job stocking shelves in a supermarket. Back in Afghanistan, he had been a local combat interpreter for the U.S. Army — a dangerous job that drew Taliban threats against him and his family and forced them to flee.

“My family life became in danger because [of] my job,” Jafari said, “And they were looking for us to kill us because we helped coalition forces in Afghanistan. And they call us ‘traitor.’ So that’s why I decided to get out of the country before they’re gonna kill me or my family.”

But he and his wife had to leave their parents and Masooma’s two younger sisters behind. Now they’re desperately seeking help to bring them out. Because Jafari’s work was known, those family members are also a target. And now that the Taliban has taken control of the country, Jafari said, family members are “on the move.” He’s urged them not to stay in any one place for long, but he has no idea how they will get out.

“I’m knocking [on] every door to, you know, to move them out,” he said. “There’s no way they can stay in Afghanistan. It’s over.”

Jafari became an interpreter after three years in the Afghan Army, working “shoulder to shoulder” with the U.S. military. As his English improved, he said he realized becoming an interpreter would be the best way to support the fight against the Taliban. Without interpreters, Jafari said, the U.S. forces “cannot find their way, they cannot find what they are looking for.”

In 2011, Jafari was embedded with Army Sgt. Maj. Tim Larrington’s unit stationed in Badghis province in northwest Afghanistan. Larrington, now retired, said interpreters like Jafari were critical to getting the job done safely.

“My livelihood and my capability of survival really relies on their interpretation. And if, if something is lost in the dialect, it could turn very bad very quickly,” Larrington said.

Larrington pointed out the dangers of the job. Interpreters are civilians who move around on the battlefield unarmed, and they have to worry about their identities becoming known to the many militants they encounter. Some conceal their faces while they work. While his unit worked almost like a family, Larrington said, from the start he tried to keep his interpreters clear eyed about the time the United States might leave Afghanistan.

“‘What I need you all to understand is that, if we just pick up and walk out, which could very well happen, you have to be prepared, your families have to be prepared and what are you going to do?’” he said he told them. “And I kept trying to explain to them, ‘Look, once we start pulling out, you got to understand things will change drastically.’”

Masooma, who’s 27 years old, said she knew the risks of marrying an interpreter. Though the Taliban wasn’t ruling the country when she was a young girl, she lived in Uruzgan province — an area that hadn’t been freed from the Taliban threat. There were no schools for girls, she said, until her family moved to another province. Even then, she said, she ended her education at age 14 because the long walk to school became too dangerous.

When Larrington left Afghanistan in 2012, Jafari moved on to other interpreter postings. But the two stayed in touch, and when threats against his family began, Jafari said, Larrington wrote a recommendation letter that helped him obtain a special immigration visa — a program specifically designed for Afghan people and their families who have aided the U.S. military with work such as translation.

It took three years before the visa was finalized. Catholic Charities of Boston helped them find an apartment, and Jafari and his wife say they feel welcome in their new home. But there’s no relief from worry about the family they left behind. Jafari said it was a “sacrifice” for their children.

“I didn’t want their future to be dark like me, because I lived under fear every day, every night,” he said. “Sleep in the fear, wake up in the fear. So that’s why I decided to change their future. They’re going to be educated, and be able to serve their country, the people and the community.”