

This mitzvah forbids taking revenge against another Jew, teaching that personal injury does not permit retaliatory conduct.
The source of this mitzvah is the verse, “לֹא תִקֹּם” — “Do not take revenge” (Leviticus 19:18). Chazal explain the classic case: one person refuses to lend an item, and the next day asks to borrow from the one he refused; if the second now says, “I will not lend to you just as you did not lend to me,” that is נקימה — revenge. The Torah forbids answering personal hurt with mirrored retaliation.
On the halachic plane, revenge does not require violence or dramatic punishment. It can appear in something small, verbal, social, or practical. The issur begins when a person uses another’s earlier wrongdoing as the reason to withhold present good. The Torah is therefore not only regulating anger at its most extreme. It is uprooting a pattern in which the injured person makes himself judge and payback the governing principle of the relationship.
Conceptually, this mitzvah protects the soul from becoming organized around grievance. A person who lives by revenge does not merely respond to injury; he allows injury to define his moral posture. Torah rejects that structure. Justice belongs to Torah law and to Hashem, while the individual is commanded to master the instinct to repay pain with pain. The mitzvah does not deny that wrong was done. It refuses to let the wrong become the blueprint for one’s own conduct.
A person shaped by this mitzvah becomes less reactive when hurt. Many acts of revenge are not dramatic. They appear in cooler forms: withholding help, speaking sharply, excluding someone, or quietly enjoying the chance to “even the score.” The Torah trains a person to notice that these moments are spiritually serious. What feels like balance is often just injury returning in a new form.
That changes inner structure. Instead of letting past hurt decide present action, a person learns to act from principle rather than from the memory of insult. He becomes less controlled by what others did to him and more governed by what Hashem asks of him now. That creates a more ordered and freer inner life.
Emotionally, this mitzvah is difficult because revenge promises relief. It offers the feeling that dignity has been restored by making the other person feel what one felt. But the relief is thin and short. Torah points toward something stronger: not pretending the hurt never happened, but refusing to become the kind of person whose goodness depends on being treated well first. Over time, this builds real strength. A person becomes steadier, less ruled by resentment, and more capable of acting from clarity rather than wounded pride.
This mitzvah appears in Parashas Kedoshim beside the prohibition of bearing a grudge and the command to love one’s fellow. That setting is essential. The Torah is not merely forbidding a single bad reaction. It is building a whole interpersonal system. First, one may not take revenge; second, one may not continue holding the wrong in his heart; finally, he is commanded to love his fellow. The background reveals the movement clearly: Torah does not want a person frozen in injury, then dressed in outward politeness. It seeks a deeper repair in which payback is relinquished, resentment is not preserved, and relationship is no longer governed by remembered hurt. In the Rambam’s canonical count used by this guide, Mitzvah 20 — Not to take revenge stands as a key part of that interpersonal architecture of holiness.
This mitzvah belongs directly to בין אדם לחברו because it governs how one person responds to injury caused by another. Torah demands that even real hurt not become the basis for retaliatory conduct.
This tag stands at the center of the mitzvah because the issur addresses the whole world of remembered injury and personal repayment. Revenge is forbidden here, and the nearby prohibition of grudge-bearing shows how closely action and inner holding are linked.
אהבה belongs here because the Torah places this prohibition immediately before “ואהבת לרעך כמוך.” A person cannot move toward real love while still arranging conduct around payback. Letting go of revenge clears space for a healthier relationship to emerge.
חסד is relevant because refusing revenge means choosing not to answer hurt with withheld good. Even when the other person has failed, Torah asks the injured person not to let that failure dictate his own kindness.
רחמים belongs here because revenge often grows from the inability to see another person as flawed, limited, and capable of failure without immediately turning that failure into a case for repayment. Compassion softens that instinct.
צדק is relevant because revenge often disguises itself as justice while actually being personal retaliation. The mitzvah teaches the difference. Justice belongs to Torah and proper judgment, not to wounded impulse.
Thought is central because revenge begins inwardly before it becomes conduct. A person remembers, replays, and interprets the hurt, and then acts through that memory. The mitzvah therefore protects the inner life as much as the outer act.
Its place in Kedoshim shows that קדושה includes the refusal to let personal conflict define one’s behavior. Holiness appears not only in ritual life, but in whether hurt is transformed into retaliation or restrained before Hashem.
ענוה is strengthened by this mitzvah because revenge is often tied to injured pride. A more humble person has less need to restore himself by lowering another. He can absorb the slight without making repayment the center of his response.
Although this mitzvah governs human interaction, it is also deeply בין אדם למקום because the refusal to take revenge comes from submission to Hashem’s command. A person restrains himself not because the hurt was unreal, but because he chooses to answer first to Torah rather than to injured instinct.



This mitzvah forbids taking revenge against another Jew, teaching that personal injury does not permit retaliatory conduct.
The source of this mitzvah is the verse, “לֹא תִקֹּם” — “Do not take revenge” (Leviticus 19:18). Chazal explain the classic case: one person refuses to lend an item, and the next day asks to borrow from the one he refused; if the second now says, “I will not lend to you just as you did not lend to me,” that is נקימה — revenge. The Torah forbids answering personal hurt with mirrored retaliation.
On the halachic plane, revenge does not require violence or dramatic punishment. It can appear in something small, verbal, social, or practical. The issur begins when a person uses another’s earlier wrongdoing as the reason to withhold present good. The Torah is therefore not only regulating anger at its most extreme. It is uprooting a pattern in which the injured person makes himself judge and payback the governing principle of the relationship.
Conceptually, this mitzvah protects the soul from becoming organized around grievance. A person who lives by revenge does not merely respond to injury; he allows injury to define his moral posture. Torah rejects that structure. Justice belongs to Torah law and to Hashem, while the individual is commanded to master the instinct to repay pain with pain. The mitzvah does not deny that wrong was done. It refuses to let the wrong become the blueprint for one’s own conduct.
A person shaped by this mitzvah becomes less reactive when hurt. Many acts of revenge are not dramatic. They appear in cooler forms: withholding help, speaking sharply, excluding someone, or quietly enjoying the chance to “even the score.” The Torah trains a person to notice that these moments are spiritually serious. What feels like balance is often just injury returning in a new form.
That changes inner structure. Instead of letting past hurt decide present action, a person learns to act from principle rather than from the memory of insult. He becomes less controlled by what others did to him and more governed by what Hashem asks of him now. That creates a more ordered and freer inner life.
Emotionally, this mitzvah is difficult because revenge promises relief. It offers the feeling that dignity has been restored by making the other person feel what one felt. But the relief is thin and short. Torah points toward something stronger: not pretending the hurt never happened, but refusing to become the kind of person whose goodness depends on being treated well first. Over time, this builds real strength. A person becomes steadier, less ruled by resentment, and more capable of acting from clarity rather than wounded pride.

This mitzvah appears in Parashas Kedoshim beside the prohibition of bearing a grudge and the command to love one’s fellow. That setting is essential. The Torah is not merely forbidding a single bad reaction. It is building a whole interpersonal system. First, one may not take revenge; second, one may not continue holding the wrong in his heart; finally, he is commanded to love his fellow. The background reveals the movement clearly: Torah does not want a person frozen in injury, then dressed in outward politeness. It seeks a deeper repair in which payback is relinquished, resentment is not preserved, and relationship is no longer governed by remembered hurt. In the Rambam’s canonical count used by this guide, Mitzvah 20 — Not to take revenge stands as a key part of that interpersonal architecture of holiness.



This mitzvah belongs directly to בין אדם לחברו because it governs how one person responds to injury caused by another. Torah demands that even real hurt not become the basis for retaliatory conduct.
This tag stands at the center of the mitzvah because the issur addresses the whole world of remembered injury and personal repayment. Revenge is forbidden here, and the nearby prohibition of grudge-bearing shows how closely action and inner holding are linked.
אהבה belongs here because the Torah places this prohibition immediately before “ואהבת לרעך כמוך.” A person cannot move toward real love while still arranging conduct around payback. Letting go of revenge clears space for a healthier relationship to emerge.
חסד is relevant because refusing revenge means choosing not to answer hurt with withheld good. Even when the other person has failed, Torah asks the injured person not to let that failure dictate his own kindness.
רחמים belongs here because revenge often grows from the inability to see another person as flawed, limited, and capable of failure without immediately turning that failure into a case for repayment. Compassion softens that instinct.
צדק is relevant because revenge often disguises itself as justice while actually being personal retaliation. The mitzvah teaches the difference. Justice belongs to Torah and proper judgment, not to wounded impulse.
Thought is central because revenge begins inwardly before it becomes conduct. A person remembers, replays, and interprets the hurt, and then acts through that memory. The mitzvah therefore protects the inner life as much as the outer act.
Its place in Kedoshim shows that קדושה includes the refusal to let personal conflict define one’s behavior. Holiness appears not only in ritual life, but in whether hurt is transformed into retaliation or restrained before Hashem.
ענוה is strengthened by this mitzvah because revenge is often tied to injured pride. A more humble person has less need to restore himself by lowering another. He can absorb the slight without making repayment the center of his response.
Although this mitzvah governs human interaction, it is also deeply בין אדם למקום because the refusal to take revenge comes from submission to Hashem’s command. A person restrains himself not because the hurt was unreal, but because he chooses to answer first to Torah rather than to injured instinct.

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