Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.

There are people who shape the very foundation of who we become — our families, the environments we grow up in, the people closest to us in our early years. They become woven into us almost instinctively, and our deepest emotions are often tied to them.

But this is not really about them.

This is about the people I never expected anything from, yet who left permanent marks on my life through unexpected kindness, wisdom, or compassion at critical moments. People who, sometimes with only a few words, gave me strength or inspiration that stayed with me forever.

They are my everyday heroes.

And perhaps this is my small imaginary monument to them.

Kati

One of my earliest heroes was my art teacher, Kati.

As a child, I always felt slightly out of place — both outwardly and inwardly.

I was much blonder than most of my classmates. Somewhere else in the world that might have been considered a privilege, but there and then it simply made me a target. Children mocked me, called me names, and later I became the person everyone pointed at whenever “blonde jokes” came up.

I started wearing makeup very young. Not out of vanity, but almost like armor.

Unfortunately, not every teacher appreciated that. Some gave speeches in front of the class about how inappropriate it was. One even sent me out to wash it off, and when I returned and faint traces still remained, she sent me back again, telling me not to come back until I had “properly scrubbed it off.”

To this day, I will never understand what some adults gain from humiliating insecure teenage girls.

But then there was Kati.

One day she quietly pulled me aside. She didn’t shame me. She didn’t lecture me. Instead, she gently explained that women who wear makeup usually carry small mirrors and touch it up during the day so it doesn’t smudge. She even showed me how to make it look softer and more elegant so it would attract less criticism.

It sounds like such a small thing.

But to me, it meant everything.

For the first time, I felt seen instead of judged. Helped instead of humiliated.

I still remember that moment vividly, and every time her face appears on Facebook, I think of her with warmth and gratitude.

Erzsi

Another everyday hero was Erzsi, my biology teacher, who also practiced kinesiology.

As a teenager, I went through a painful period after conflict forced me to leave the school I knew and try to fit into a completely new environment. My mother asked Erzsi if she could help me.

The kinesiology sessions themselves were interesting, and perhaps they helped a little. But what stayed with me forever was something she said one day as I was leaving.

I was shy and withdrawn. Even though I had a rebellious phase like many teenagers, I was never one of the popular girls. Fitting in always felt difficult.

As I was about to walk out the door, she suddenly stopped me and said:

“Listen to me carefully. I can see that you are quiet and reserved, and there will be people in life who won’t value you enough because of that. I know, because I’m like that too. But remember this now and forever: you are valuable exactly as you are. Never try to become someone else.”

Those words stayed with me for life.

Erzsi passed away not long ago. I learned about it through Facebook.

May she rest in peace.

Tamás

I was already in my twenties when curiosity — and perhaps fate — brought Tamás into my life.

He was a rabbi, but unlike many religious leaders, he was genuinely open to speaking with people from different faiths in a warm and accepting way. He offered me and another young woman — who later became one of my closest friends — a free short course introducing us to Judaism and even teaching us some Hebrew.

Afterward, he invited us to his weekly Torah discussion group.

Those evenings were extraordinary. Christian priests, religious Jews, students, seekers, and curious outsiders all sat together listening as Tamás explained the original Hebrew texts.

Anyone who wanted could then stay for the Friday evening service.

Over time, our relationship grew into a deep friendship that lasted until his death.

Tamás was one of those rare people who helped others without expecting absolutely anything in return. He gave his time, knowledge, kindness, and attention freely and naturally.

Truly good people are rare.

He was one of them.

Father Gyuri

Through Tamás I met Father Gyuri, who was already in his nineties when we first met.

He was a Catholic priest of Jewish origin who had been persecuted first by the Nazis and later by the Communist regime. Yet throughout his life, he repeatedly risked himself to save others, often using forged papers.

His lifelong dream was to create a house dedicated to Jewish-Christian reconciliation. Several times he bought properties for this purpose, but each time selfish interests diverted them elsewhere before the dream could become reality.

For some reason, he believed that perhaps I might one day help finish what he had started.

I have never seen such determination in someone of that age. Even that alone was extraordinary. But the courage and humanity he had shown throughout his life were simply beyond words.

One conversation with him especially stayed with me.

He told me he sincerely hoped the Catholic Church would one day allow priests to marry, because the loneliness and suffering caused by that rule had marked his own life deeply, and he did not wish future generations to endure the same pain.

Sadly, he lived to see neither that change nor the fulfillment of his great dream.

He died suddenly not long after we met.

But before that, I spent a long weekend with him in his little house in the Bakony hills, listening to his stories and speaking about life, faith, suffering, and hope.

I am not usually someone who cries easily.

But there, for a minute, I could not stop the tears.

The Other Erzsi

And then there was another Erzsi.

She taught me needlework, but what truly inspired me was not her craft — it was her life.

During the Holocaust, she lost her three small children, her husband, and almost her entire family. She survived only because she could create extraordinarily beautiful embroidered tablecloths, which Nazi officers sent home to their wives.

Her talent kept her alive.

After the war, she returned home to unimaginable loss.

And still, she did not give up.

She rebuilt her life. Remarried. Had another child. Then later lost her second husband under tragic circumstances connected to the aftermath of the Holocaust.

And still she continued.

Even near the age of ninety, she was creating, teaching, and inspiring others. She radiated resilience.

She taught survival not through words, but through the way she lived.

A Second Life

These are old memories.

And yet they have followed me throughout my life, perhaps becoming even more important during my current difficult chapter.

A life-threatening illness such as breast cancer changes far more than the body. It reshapes your perspective on everything. And if you survive it, in some ways it feels like being born a second time.

As Confucius said:

“We have two lives, and the second begins when we realize we only have one.”

Perhaps this is the beginning of my second life.

And in this chapter too, there are people inspiring me in different ways. Maybe one day I will write about them as well — once this period has fully passed, and once I know I can properly honor everyone who helped me survive it.

Until then, I carry them quietly in my heart.

With love.