Right or Happy: Pick One

The Tzemach Tzedek, the third Chabad-Lubavitch Rebbe, a leading 19th-century Chassidic master, once observed this paradox: “Adults hold grudges. Children don’t.”

But why? “Aren’t adults more mature?” he asked. “Shouldn’t they be more capable of letting go?”

And then he answered: “Children would rather be happy than be right. Adults would rather be right than be happy.”

That is the root of it all.

The grudge drags me down. It saps my joy, my energy, my openness. But I hold onto it anyway. Why? Because I’m right. Because I was wronged. Because justice demands it.

But does it?

The Torah commands us, “Do not bear a grudge.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a mitzvah, a spiritual discipline.

Letting go of a grudge doesn’t mean excusing bad behaviour. It means choosing not to relive it again and again, letting it hold you tight in its grip.

Because God knows that holding a grudge is not only harmful to the soul - it warps reality. It keeps us frozen in time, perpetually reliving the pain, refusing to let it dissolve into the past.

To be sure, letting go of a grudge doesn’t mean excusing bad behaviour. It means choosing not to relive it again and again, letting it hold you tight in its grip.

The Cost of Holding On

Grudges engender bad feelings. Bad feelings evolve into hate. To hate is to be psychologically ill. It is, in fact, the consuming illness of our time. It starts as an anger that doesn't get resolved. Then it becomes resentment and then a true hatred that can go on indefinitely. Over time it causes serious damage.

Haters can't let go or get on with life. They become bitter and frustrated. Their lives become mean, small, and narrow. It is like an acid, which damages not just the object upon which it is poured, but also the vessel in which it is stored. As Richard Nixon once observed: "Others may hate you. Those who hate you don't win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself."

When God instructed the Israelites, “don’t hate an Egyptian because you were strangers in their land,” it is more than just a lesson in gratitude. It is also a lesson in forgiveness. God does not want the Jews to be feeling the cold animosity or rage. Not that these emotions would not be justified – but you have to let go of the role of victim. If the Jews had been driven by hate, even for people they had every reason to hate, then Moses would take the Israelites out of Egypt, but he would not have taken Egypt out of the Israelites.

He was teaching the Jewish people a fundamental proposition: If you want to be free, don’t bear grudges. You have to let go of the negative past and look toward a brighter future.

There’s a joke told of an elderly woman who lived a life of bitter loneliness. She never married, never found love, and when she died at ninety-seven, her will had one peculiar instruction: “There shall be no male pallbearers at my funeral. If they didn’t want to take me out when I was alive, they’re not taking me out now that I’m gone!”

It’s funny because it’s true. How many of us carry silent, buried resentments through decades of life? How many old slights become part of our inner architecture?

Letting Go Isn't the Same as Excusing

Happy people - truly happy people - choose differently. They choose to be free.

Because joy is a fragile thing. It cannot coexist with festering resentment. And the soul cannot soar when it's weighed down by the past.

Joy cannot coexist with festering resentment. And the soul cannot soar when it's weighed down by the past.

Letting go is not forgetting. It’s remembering differently. It’s saying, “I acknowledge the pain, but I will no longer centre my life around it. I refuse to let someone else’s failure become the axis of my emotional world.”

The Talmud tells a striking story of two great sages, Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua. After a painful disagreement, Rabban Gamliel publicly embarrassed Rabbi Yehoshua. Later, he realized his error and sought reconciliation.

At first, Rabbi Yehoshua did not forgive. Despite Rabban Gamliel’s attempts, he remained distant. Only after Rabban Gamliel invoked the memory of his revered father, saying, “Do it for my father’s sake,” did Rabbi Yehoshua relent and forgive.

This teaches us something essential: Forgiveness is not always immediate. Nor should it be. There are times when the wound is deep, when the pain is not so easily soothed. It is not unhealthy to pause, to process, to protect one’s dignity.

Forgiveness, when premature, can be self-erasure. It can signal to us and others that our pain doesn’t matter. But when it comes with time, intention, and mutual recognition, it heals.

Rabbi Yehoshua’s hesitation was not pettiness. It was dignity. It was a reminder that forgiveness is not surrender. It is an offering - a gift of grace, not a given. And yet, when the request became sincere - when the apology was accompanied by humility - Rabbi Yehoshua not only forgave but advocated for Rabban Gamliel’s reinstatement as the leader of the Jewish community.

How to Actually Release a Grudge

That is true release. That is letting go.

Letting go of a grudge does not mean forgetting the wound. It means choosing not to let it define your future. It means transcending the narrative of pain and rewriting it with presence, purpose, and compassion.

When we hold grudges, we lock others in the image of who they were. But when we release them, we give them the space - and ourselves the freedom - to become something more.

Excerpted by the new book JoyWorks: Jewish Wisdom for a Happy Life