It takes strength to be kind; it's not a weakness.

Hear the words of Daniel Lubetzky, a builder of enterprises and a student of humanity, who declared: “It takes strength to be kind; it’s not a weakness.” In this brief truth lies the overturning of a lie told for centuries—that kindness is softness, that mercy is frailty, that compassion is a sign of timidity. Lubetzky speaks against this deception, reminding us that to extend the hand of kindness requires a deeper courage than to raise the fist of anger.

When he speaks of strength, he names not only the strength of body, but of spirit. To meet cruelty with cruelty is easy, for rage bursts forth like wildfire. But to meet cruelty with kindness, to offer gentleness where scorn is expected—this is mastery of the self. It requires one to subdue pride, to silence vengeance, to stand firm in dignity when others stoop low. Such restraint is not weakness but a towering act of will, as difficult and as noble as any battlefield victory.

History reveals this truth with shining clarity. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who in the midst of the Civil War refused to treat his enemies with hatred. He spoke of malice toward none, with charity for all, even when the nation was drenched in blood. His kindness was not naïveté, but strength—the vision of a man who knew that healing could never be born from vengeance. It was this spirit of mercy that helped bind the wounds of a fractured land, even if he himself did not live to see its fruit.

Or recall the life of Mahatma Gandhi, who stood unarmed before an empire, answering violence not with retaliation, but with peaceful resistance. Many mistook his gentleness for weakness. Yet in truth it was strength greater than armies, for it broke the chains of millions and stirred the conscience of the world. His kindness disarmed brutality, proving once more that kindness is not the retreat of the powerless, but the weapon of the courageous.

Lubetzky’s words also remind us that the world often mocks kindness as softness, because it does not understand its cost. To be kind when all is well requires little. But to be kind when wounded, to forgive when betrayed, to show mercy when in power—that is greatness. Kindness in such moments is forged in fire. It is an act of defiance against the darkness, a declaration that one’s spirit cannot be conquered by hatred.

The lesson for us is clear: embrace kindness not as weakness, but as the truest form of strength. Be kind when it is easy, but also when it is hard. Be kind not only to friends, but to strangers, and even to those who stand against you. For in such acts you rise above the common spirit of vengeance and embody the nobler spirit of humanity. Strength is not proved in domination, but in restraint; not in crushing others, but in lifting them.

Practical steps are these: in moments of anger, pause, and choose words of kindness over sharpness. In times of advantage, use your power not to humiliate, but to uplift. When hurt, strive to forgive—not to excuse wrongdoing, but to free your own heart from chains. Practice daily acts of kindness, small yet consistent, for they form the training ground of the spirit. And above all, remember that kindness, when difficult, is your greatest victory.

Thus let Lubetzky’s wisdom endure: “It takes strength to be kind; it’s not a weakness.” May we carry this truth as shield and sword, refusing to bow to the false belief that harshness is strength. For the strong are not those who conquer with fear, but those who conquer with love, and whose kindness endures even in the fiercest storms.