8 | DECEMBER 16 • 2021 

J

ust as we’re exiting 
COVID lockdown into 
a touch-starved world, 
I’ve had the uncomfortable 
realization that 
my family’s 
tradition of 
hugging needs to 
be re-examined.
Hugs have 
always been 
complicated for 
me.
I grew up in a family where 
hugging was very important. 
And not just hugs, but long, 
intimate embraces. These hugs 
became famous and infamous, 
meaningful and memorable.
On the surface, my family’s 
hugs were meant to heal, to 
comfort. Only later in my 
life did I begin to understand 
that my father’s embraces 
sometimes caused the 
receivers pain.
My father became a hugger 
in the ’60s at nearly 40 years 
old. When he was young, he 
shared with me that, because 
he had been so observant in 
childhood, he wouldn’t even 
embrace his own sister. He 
laughed as he told me that he 
would have been more likely 
to “jump out the window than 
speak to a woman.” 
Subsequently, my father 
went from the black-and-
white world of his male-
dominated yeshivah life to 
the technicolor, uninhibited 
embrace of the hippie Free 
Love movement in Berkeley, 
California. This is where and 
how he learned to relate to 
women, where and how he 
learned to hug. From one 

extreme to the other, from life 
without hugs to communal 
ecstatic embraces.
But free love came at a cost.
As a child, I was expected 
and instructed to hug all who 
approached me. Women and 
men, children and adults, 
those who felt safe to me, 
and those whose touch was 
invasive and frightening.
Hugging became my 
automatic reaction, and hugs 
were often longer than they 
should have been. Some of my 
most unnerving moments as 
a performer were when fans 
would line up, each waiting 
for “their hug.” I masked my 
own feelings well, and I truly 
hope that when I hugged 
them, they received what they 
needed. But while my giving 
was sincere, hugging felt to me 
like a mitzvah, an obligation, 
something one does for the 
sake of others. And so often 
I dreaded it. This practice 
rendered my body unguarded. 
I would often leave concerts 
full of both anxiety and 

fulfillment. I had done my 
job, yet I felt invaded and 
exhausted.
When the #MeToo 
movement began, I worked 
to build the courage to look 
at my own life and choices 
more critically. My shows were 
canceled as a byproduct of the 
allegations of sexual violations 
by my father, and I became 
a casualty in the “cancel 
culture” surrounding my last 
name. I stopped traveling, 
mostly stopped socializing 
and began to look inward. I 
realized then that I no longer 
wanted to hug in the way I 
once had. I realized that my 
hugs sometimes came from 
a place of awkwardness and 
self-compromise. I was afraid 
to offend, frightened to admit 
that a hug was not welcome.
I also came to see that the 
patterns around my family’s 
tradition of hugging needed to 
be re-examined more closely 
than I ever would have chosen 
to look. No child wishes to 
think of their parents in this 

way, but it became essential 
for me to do so. Never would 
I want my hugs to be seen 
as inappropriate and lacking 
boundaries. Looking back at 
my own life, I was horrified, 
wondering if my hugs had 
ever miscommunicated or 
wounded others. They had 
certainly taken a toll on me.
Then the pandemic hit 
and my world became so 
much smaller. Time with 
my immediate family was 
everything, hugging my 
husband and children — and 
no one else — became my 
healing. Though complicated 
to say, I enjoyed this aspect 
of COVID. For over a year, 
nobody outside my family 
touched me.
We all have so much to 
learn about the ways in which 
we have been traumatized 
by the pandemic. Too many 
people were alone and “touch 
starved,” alone and aching 
for the embrace of another 
human. In study after study, 
it became clear that many 
people missed hugs most 
of all, reflected in messages 
I received during this time 
from fans, expressing how 
they couldn’t wait for “their 
hug” once it would be safe 
again. I agreed. Touch can be 
a mitzvah — if it is safe. If it is 
welcome. If consent is present.

COMFORT WITHOUT 
VIOLATION
I recently attended a gathering 
of people, my first indoor 
event in a very long time. 
Some people I knew from 
before the pandemic, but 

opinion

I’m Stepping Back from Hugs
and Embracing the Mitzvah of Consent

PURELY COMMENTARY

Neshama 
Carlebach

