An Encounter With Hope in the Grocery Store

I stepped out of the square taped to the supermarket floor, pushed my cart forward and unloaded my groceries. Looking through the plexiglass barrier, I read the name tag of the checker, Emeka, a Black man whom I’d never seen in that store.

Before COVID-19, I used to read the name tags of store clerks and greet them by name. It’s a mitzvah to take the initiative in greeting people, and to do so with a pleasant demeanor. In my experience, doing so infuses predictable interactions with small sparks of connection. Clerks perked up when they heard their names, glad to have their individuality recognized. They’d often smile and offer an appreciative look.

Behind my mask, I should have redoubled my efforts. Instead, I let myself sink into feelings of alienation that followed the lockdown. To my embarrassment, I dropped my practice. But Emeka radiated such optimism that I decided this was the moment I was meant to resume my practice. I said hello, and asked how he pronounced his name.

“My name is pronounced ‘e-MEH-kah.’ It means ‘what God has done is good’ in Nigerian.” He spoke with pride, a dignified man.

“Your name is beautiful,” I said. Encouraged by my compliment, Emeka told me about himself. Scanning the bar codes on my nectarines, asparagus, milk and crackers, he told me about coming here from Nigeria in 1974, returning there to get married, and bringing his wife back to the U.S. “America is the land of opportunity!” he said.

“Do you still feel that way, even now?” I asked.

He said in a tone laced with wonderment at his good fortune, “My wife became a registered nurse here. Now she is studying to become a physician’s assistant. We have three children, two in high school and one in grade school. I bought my own home.”

Blacks and Jews are people whose histories include oppression, enslavement and ongoing prejudice.

As a Black man in the U.S., Emeka may well have encountered suspicious looks, rude gestures, cruel comments, perhaps a white person crossing the street to avoid walking directly past him, and other indignities. But he has not let the painful encounters dampen his appreciation for the life he has built here, and for the country that facilitated it.

As a Jew, I also carry the weight of historical and chronic threats against my people every day. Blacks and Jews are people whose histories include oppression, enslavement and ongoing prejudice in different nations and to varying degrees. We have every reason to feel one another’s pain.

However, the kinship I felt with Emeka wasn’t based on a shared victim status, but on a shared mindset of faith and gratitude. At its best, religion fosters this sense of gratitude, a sense of purpose and the understanding we are crucial players in God’s unfolding plans. A shared sense of faith also creates sustaining bonds of community.

We may not understand why we endure crucibles, but our belief in a God who is our creator and ultimate loving parent, helps us reframe life’s difficulties and forge ahead. We work to uphold God’s laws and pray for a better tomorrow.

Emeka’s pride in telling me the meaning of his name signaled that his faith enables him to see life not as a series of affronts, but a series of challenges to be met through his own positivity, abilities and belief in God. These are advantages no one can take from him.

When my purchase was complete, I told Emeka I looked forward to seeing him again. “I also look forward to seeing you. God bless you,” he said. I returned his blessing in full.

This little encounter in the market should not have been notable. But with racially-charged protests and riots plaguing many cities, everyday encounters between People of Color and whites assume an outsized significance. That made my fleeting onnection with Emeka healing, uplifting, even moving.

In a time of depressing social and political strife, I will long cherish this beautiful moment, one made possible by a shared outlook of faith in God.

Judy Gruen’s is the author of “The Skeptic and the Rabbi: Falling in Love With Faith.”