There is something deeply human — and wildly natural — about touch.
A newborn seeks it before words. A child reaches instinctively for warmth.
This is not a luxury. It’s a need — like breath, like water.

The gentle hand, the simple hug, the quiet moment of contact without words — it says:
“I see you. You belong. You are safe.”
When offered with presence, touch can heal. And when no healing is needed, it simply reminds us we are here — that we exist, that we’re not alone.

And yet… in many “developed” cultures, we hardly touch.
We hesitate. We fear discomfort, awkwardness, the misreading of intention.
Boundaries become walls. Intimacy becomes suspect.
We forget the language of touch — the one we knew long before we learned to speak.

We start believing that touch must be sexual to be valid.
That a hug must mean something. That a caress must lead somewhere.
And in that belief, we lose a deep part of our human wholeness.

But what if…
What if there was touch that wasn’t about taking?
What if there was space where touch is sacred — not sexual, not spiritual — just deeply real?

It is not enough to fight darkness by cursing it.
We must bring a candle and simply let it be seen.

If this small letter invites you to pause, even briefly, and reflect —
on hugs, on touch, on the softness you may be hiding beneath your skin —
then it has done its work.With warmth,
Yehuda