Once upon a time, at the end of the 13th century, there lived a Hungarian princess. When she was born in the castle of Buda, legend says that her father, King Andrew III, was so overjoyed that he ordered the bells to be rung and wine to be distributed among the people of the city. The little girl was named Elizabeth, and no one could have foreseen that the last descendant of the Árpád dynasty would not fulfill her destiny in the splendor of a royal court, but in the silence of a convent in a foreign land. That, as Blessed Elizabeth of Töss, legends would arise about her life and the miraculous healings connected to her. This is how we could begin the tale — one that, after a mere 700 years, somehow finds everything falling back into place.

The last princess of the Árpád Dynasty

Elizabeth was the only daughter of King Andrew III of Hungary. With his reign, the three-hundred-year history of the Árpád dynasty came to an end — a dynasty whose kings had laid the foundations of the Hungarian Kingdom’s stability. Yet the princess experienced the cruelty of power struggles from an early age. Her mother, Fenenna of Poland, whom Andrew III married in December 1290, died young, leaving Elizabeth half-orphaned at barely three years old.

After her father remarried, Elizabeth was raised at the court of her stepmother, Agnes of Habsburg. When Andrew III died in 1301, Elizabeth was only eight years old. With the extinction of the male line of the Árpád dynasty, a chaotic period began in Hungary. Several European ruling houses competed for the throne, and the young princess became a pawn in political negotiations.

The king’s widow and Elizabeth were expelled from Hungary and were only released on the condition that they would never return to the kingdom.

On foreign soil

The princess was first taken to Vienna, and for years her life unfolded across various courts and convents. After Agnes of Habsburg herself entered religious life, she placed her stepdaughter in the Dominican convent of Töss, near Winterthur in present-day Switzerland. There is no exact record of when Elizabeth entered the order, but a 14th-century chronicle, The Book of the Sisters of Töss, written by the Dominican nun Elsbeth Stagel, describes her as follows: “Though she was of noble birth, she was even nobler through her virtues.”

According to records, Elizabeth was an exemplary, humble, diligent, and loving nun. She did not seek privileges because of her royal origin and took part in the daily work of the convent just like the other sisters. She showed particular compassion toward the poor and the homeless.

The homesick princess

The chronicles also reveal that Elizabeth carried homesickness in her heart throughout her life. She had been torn from Hungary as a child and never saw her homeland again. Living in the silence of the convent, she often spoke of the distant country where she was born. According to legend, this inner sorrow accompanied her throughout her life, along with significant physical suffering.

Convent records indicate that Elizabeth suffered from a mysterious illness that physicians could not explain. She was often bedridden for weeks or even months due to severe pain. 

The chronicle states that “no such illness had been seen in all of Germany.”

In the last two years of her life, the princess could barely leave her sickroom. According to legend, she awaited death, which finally came on October 31, 1336. Elizabeth lived to be forty-two years old.

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Photo: Municipal Communications Center

The legend of the incorrupt body

After her death, unusual stories began to circulate in the convent of Töss. According to accounts collected by the Swiss priest Robert Heinrich Oehninger, Elizabeth’s body—contrary to the custom of the order—was buried in a stone sarcophagus at the command of Queen Agnes of Habsburg. From her death in October 1336 until her reburial in 1337, her body remained incorrupt, showing no signs of decay, which the nuns regarded as a divine miracle.

The convent tradition also recorded several miraculous healings. One story tells of a nun who had been ill for a long time; she was brought to Elizabeth’s body, and after touching it with reverence, she was immediately healed. This event contributed to Elizabeth soon being venerated as “Blessed” within the Dominican order. This veneration is also reflected in the beautifully carved tomb monument erected for her in the sanctuary of the convent church.

In Winterthur, a street was named after the Árpád princess, and local children still learn about her life in school.

A unique tomb cover

Sadly, during the Reformation, the convent of Töss was devastated, and many medieval relics —including Elizabeth’s tomb — were destroyed. To this day, the location of her earthly remains is unknown. However, in a remarkable way, the beautifully carved, approximately half-ton lid of her tomb survived. It is the only sarcophagus lid connected to the Árpád dynasty that has remained intact.

The story of the princess was rediscovered by Michel Bakocs, a Zurich-born man of Hungarian descent and leader of the Hungarian Archery Club in Switzerland. In 2014, while stuck in traffic in Töss, he noticed a double cross on a red background in the district’s coat of arms. After a brief online search, he realized he was looking at the Hungarian apostolic double cross.

Members of the Hungarian community in Switzerland, led by Michel Bakocs and Szilvia Struhar, took action to restore Elizabeth’s memory to Hungarian public awareness. They translated Oehninger’s book into Hungarian under the title The Veil of the Crown Princess – The Legend of Blessed Elizabeth of the Árpád Dynasty (A koronahercegnő fátyla – Árpád-házi Boldog Erzsébet legendája). Over the years, they gathered more than fifteen thousand signatures from around the world to persuade the Swiss authorities that the tomb lid of the “Last Golden Twig” belongs in Hungary.

The initiative was supported by Hungary’s ambassador to Switzerland, József Czukor, and Tamás Vargha, a member of parliament from Székesfehérvár. Through their joint efforts, the Zurich National Museum agreed to loan the invaluable artifact to Hungary, specifically to the King Saint Stephen Museum in Székesfehérvár.

The sarcophagus lid, carved from gray limestone and once painted in vivid colors by Swiss craftsmen, is also a remarkable work of art from an art historical perspective. The triangular stone lid is richly decorated with plant tendrils, leaves, and floral motifs. 

At its center are two coats of arms: one bearing the red and silver stripes of the Árpád dynasty, the other the apostolic double cross, symbolizing the Hungarian Kingdom and the Árpád lineage.

The edge of the lid is adorned with forty-two floral motifs — interpreted by some as representing the years of Elizabeth’s life.

A symbolic homecoming

Since March 7, the sarcophagus lid has been on display in Székesfehérvár, a city that for centuries served as the coronation and burial site of Hungarian kings. The tomb cover of Blessed Elizabeth is exhibited in the Coronation Basilica Visitor Center of the National Memorial Site, just a few meters from the fragment of the sarcophagus lid of King Saint Stephen. In this way, the beginning and the end of this remarkable ruling dynasty meet.

Although Blessed Elizabeth of the Árpád dynasty could never return to her homeland during her lifetime, her memory has now reached Hungarian soil. If not in life, then in remembrance, she has finally come home.

Blessed and Saint Elizabeth
In Hungary, we are primarily familiar with Saint Elizabeth of the Árpád dynasty, the daughter of King Andrew II, who lived in the 13th century. As a child, she was taken to Germany, as she had been betrothed to Louis IV, Landgrave of Thuringia, whom she later married happily and with whom she had three children. After her husband’s death, she gave away all her wealth to the poor, founded a hospital, and devoted her life to charity. She was later canonized by the Church.
She should not be confused with Blessed Elizabeth of the Árpád dynasty, who lived not as a queen, but as a nun in the convent of Töss in Switzerland.

The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

The Transylvanian exhibition area was inaugurated in 2022 at the Szentendre Open-Air Ethnographic Museum — better known as the Skanzen — and it quickly became a huge success among visitors interested in ethnography. The new attraction drew more than one hundred thousand visitors in the first months alone.

The museum management continuously seeks to highlight the regional unit with new attractions. They have already organized Armenian Days, held church services, transformed the café into a replica of the legendary Pilvax for the national holiday, and this weekend Transylvanian gastronomy will take center stage.

The Taste of Transylvania festival has been held in Transylvania for years. Miklós Cseri, the director general of the museum, first noticed the event when he was teaching in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) and had to visit Székelyudvarhely (Odorheiu Secuiesc). There, Adorján Trucza, owner of the Páva restaurant (and the festival’s main organizer), told him about it. He also invited Cseri and his colleagues to the 2025 autumn event in Borospatak (Valea Boroș). The Hungarian professionals immediately fell in love with the festival, and soon agreed that the next Taste of Transylvania would be hosted by the Skanzen.

A melting pot of peoples

Transylvanian gastronomy has been shaped by different influences than the Pannonian cuisine, says Adorján Trucza, the festival’s main organizer. The many nations living in Transylvania have continuously influenced each other economically and culturally, and naturally this extends to gastronomy as well.

This will be best exemplified by Grandma Róza from Máréfalva, who will prepare a traditional cottage cheese pastry. The dish perfectly demonstrates how recipes migrate between cultures. “This dish was originally made by the Saxons and called hanklich. The Romanians adopted it under the name lichiu. The Székelys call it lepény, and they have been making it for 150–200 years. It’s fascinating how the recipe varies — almost every valley and village prepares it differently,” explained Trucza.

Speaking about the evolution of dishes, he added that in Transylvania there are foods that are prepared differently even at opposite ends of the same village — because Transylvanian cuisine is still alive and evolving. Enthusiasts collect recipes and observe changes, while also laying the foundations of a 21st-century Transylvanian culinary culture that speaks to modern audiences. “The shortage economy is fortunately a thing of the past, so in the 21st century we must offer content created with the most modern technologies,” Trucza noted.

The meeting of tradition and modernity

„Modernization and globalization — spreading from West to East — are also visible in Transylvania, as seen in fast-food chains and frozen foods”, noted Miklós Cseri. Societies that remain more rural, like parts of Transylvania, preserve traditions, ingredients and old recipes more strongly. This is important because there must be a social demand for them — especially as urbanization is also accelerating in the region.

Hundreds of thousands of Romanian citizens — including many Hungarians — work in Germany, Spain, or Italy, where they naturally absorb local culinary cultures. “At the same time, changes in the structure of the economy are transforming traditional animal husbandry and agriculture, which means the disappearance of locally sourced ingredients that once formed the basis of Transylvanian dishes,” the director general pointed out.

At the same time, Transylvanian cuisine has reached the highest levels of refinement. One example is István Veres, who earned a Michelin star for the Babel restaurant and now works in Kézdivásárhely (Târgu Secuiesc). The Páva restaurant in Székelyudvarhely (Odorheiu Secuiesc) also quickly won over audiences when it appeared at the Budapest Gourmet Festival.

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Photo: Taste of Transylvania

Thus, opposing trends can be observed in Transylvania, which makes initiatives like Taste of Transylvania particularly important. The festival seeks out authentic figures who still possess centuries-old knowledge, while also creating opportunities for them to meet chefs and restaurants representing the most modern techniques and trends. At the “Joy Kitchen,” professionals and tradition-preserving amateurs will cook together and learn from each other.

Trucza also highlighted another interesting aspect: Transylvanian cuisine can easily adapt to modern trends such as meat-free diets, as many dishes contain no animal products. “We use a wide range of herbs that can elevate even a purely vegetable-based dish to a completely new level,” he emphasized.

Vinete, zakuszka, chimney cake: ambassadors of Transylvanian cuisine

Seventy years of a shortage economy cannot be undone overnight, but with persistent effort and education, it is possible to create demand for Transylvanian dishes comparable to that in Western countries, where well-functioning local markets meet consumer needs.

Currently in Transylvania, foreign cuisines often generate more interest than local ones, precisely because Transylvanian cuisine is still alive and traditional dishes are regularly prepared at home. Young people therefore tend not to choose these dishes when dining out. “Transylvanian cuisine is not yet ‘sexy’ enough in Transylvania — but if we neglect it, in twenty years there will be nothing left,” warned Trucza.

However, as Cseri added, there are also “trendy” dishes within Transylvanian cuisine that remain popular. These include vinete (roasted eggplant spread), mici (a Balkan-origin grilled meat dish), puliszka (similar to polenta), zakuszka, and kürtőskalács (chimney cake), which can even be considered a symbol of Transylvania.

From Franciscan recipes to Bagossy Brothers

The festival program always adapts to the location, and the organizers aim to make the most of the given setting. According to Trucza, hosting the festival in the Transylvanian section of the Skanzen is not only an honor but also an ideal venue. They are preparing to create the largest Transylvanian-themed event in Hungary in 2026, enriched with cultural programs beyond gastronomy.

There will be major concerts featuring bands such as Bagossy Brothers, 4S Street, and Alma, along with book launches and film screenings supported by Vándormozi. According to the organizer, never before has there been such a large-scale exhibition of books presenting Transylvanian recipes. Visitors will be able to discover and purchase both contemporary works and historical publications.

Those interested in ancient recipes can explore a 1690 cookbook by Franciscan monks from Csíksomlyó (Șumuleu), recently republished under the title The Cooking of the Franciscans. New publications continue to appear, which, according to Cseri, indicates a renaissance of Transylvanian cuisine and growing interest in it. The demand exists—it simply needs the right forms of expression, and the festival offers an excellent platform for this.

Stuffed cabbage, curd and caraway pálinka

The multicultural gastronomy of Transylvania will be showcased at the “Joy Kitchen” venue. Here, the cuisines of peoples who have lived side by side for more than five hundred years — Hungarians, Saxons, Székelys, Romanians, Armenians, Roma and Jews — will be presented in their most authentic forms, and visitors will be able to taste them.

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Photo: Taste of Transylvania

The Transylvanian section of the Skanzen will not only use outdoor spaces. Tents will host agricultural organizations, discussions, and small-scale producers. A cinema will operate above the café, while restaurants will welcome visitors with installations in front of the church. More than twenty Transylvanian, Hungarian, and Romanian catering establishments will offer their specialties.

Visitors can learn about traditional curd-making in a reconstructed shepherd’s settlement, attend chimney cake workshops, and explore a Saxon courtyard filled with craftspeople. Meanwhile, Székely women will prepare stuffed cabbage from morning till evening over three days. Guests will be greeted at the entrance with a bite to eat and a shot of caraway pálinka, and throughout the festival they can sample a wide range of delicacies — from smoked meats to freshly baked bread.

The Skanzen’s “living museum” programs will also continue, with activities in nearly every gateway and endless opportunities to taste Transylvanian specialties.

Transportation is made easy by shuttle buses running from the Szentendre HÉV terminus, included in the ticket price.

As Trucza noted, the festival will also be held in Transylvania this year — first in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca), then in Marosvásárhely (Târgu Mureș) and Gyimes, and finally in Bucharest in mid-October. Those inspired in Szentendre to explore Transylvanian culture further are encouraged to attend these events as well, as the program varies from location to location.

The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

Four years after the kidney transplant surgery, the first question almost asks itself: how are you?

Tamás: When someone’s energy level drops to zero and then they receive a completely new “battery,” they begin to soar. Plus over decades my body had grown accustomed to my kidneys shutting down, so it wasn’t even very obvious how bad my condition was. Since the transplant, however, I simply don’t stop. Noémi, on the other hand, didn’t have time to adapt to the new situation—her body experienced the loss of one kidney as a shock.

Noémi: The short answer is: we’re alive. Sometimes tired, but wonderfully so. With immense gratitude, because the arrival of a new child enriches a family in an unbelievable way. Before the surgery, Tamás had slowed down terribly: wherever we went, he would sit down and fall asleep. After the surgery, that was me. I struggled with edema for a long time and became exhausted easily. It took more than a year before I felt human again.

Everyone experiences it differently. In our case, it felt as though along with my kidney, part of my energy had also been transferred to Tamás…

It helped enormously when I was finally able to start swimming and going to the sauna regularly again. The third trimester of pregnancy and the period after childbirth put another serious strain on my body. At the same time, Tamás’s post-surgery results were — and still are — so good that his kidney function values are in a range as if he had two kidneys. Mine have also remained stable since the operation, with only slight fluctuations around pregnancy and childbirth.

How did the doctors react? And how did you experience everything?

Tamás: Thousands of patients pass through the Transplantation Clinic, and there are many positive stories. It’s a huge thing that, as spouses, our match was almost perfect — this is by no means self-evident. Nor is it self-evident that everything has gone smoothly ever since. Even for the doctors, it’s not an everyday story that Noémi went on to give birth to a baby afterward, which is why they have followed her with even greater attention and care during and since the pregnancy. When Fülöp visits the clinic, he is welcomed with immense joy and affection. Last time they brought out a little toy race car for him, which has been his favorite ever since. According to our physician, Noémi is only the second donor known to have given birth after kidney donation. Still, given how much work they have, there is rarely time for long conversations.

Noémi: We closed an extremely trying chapter then. It wasn’t only hard for us, but for our children, our parents and our friends as well — because in such times, everyone shares the burden of worry together. We could have chosen dialysis and a long wait, but it’s important to say this clearly: neither path is easier than the other. Both involve serious struggles, and neither guarantees that everything will turn out well. What matters is which path allows a family to support and hold one another more effectively. I often say: the miracle is not that my kidney was suitable for Tamás, but that I was able to give it to him when he needed it. This is not an obligation — it is grace and a gift.

Tamás: Many married couples start down this road, but due to a lack of genetic compatibility, only a few make it as far as surgery.

From this perspective, we are very fortunate. But precisely for that reason, it isn’t always easy to talk about it, because not everyone is given this opportunity.

In a situation like this, there is no mandatory solution.

When did the idea of having another child arise after the surgery?

Noémi: We both come from large families — each of us has six siblings — so we planned to have several children ourselves. Adorján and Bendegúz were born quickly, and then there was a long silence. We already knew that one day Tamás would need a kidney, but at that time his values were still good. After that, it was especially shocking that from one moment to the next, I myself ended up between life and death due to internal bleeding and almost died. We experienced very deeply that our lives are not in our own hands. My final request was that if things turned out badly, they should check whether my kidney might be suitable for Tamás’s older brother, who was already on dialysis at the time.

Tamás: And her first question after the surgery was: could we still have children?

Noémi: I had undergone gynecological surgery; one ovary was removed, the other also had to be operated on, and more than a liter of blood was drained from my abdominal cavity — so the question was entirely justified. It felt providential that the first person to answer me was obstetrician-gynecologist Dr. Balázs Bálint: “Of course—why not even a cartload of children?” I clung to that sentence for a long time. I felt that with just two children, our family was not yet complete. Since there are so many children in our family and surroundings, the boys also wanted another sibling.

This strongly optimistic attitude seems characteristic of you. But wasn’t it risky?

Noémi: Recovery took months, during which I was under the care of several doctors, and I often received disapproving looks — how could it even occur to me, I should just be glad to be alive. I tried to let it go, but the thought kept nagging at me. The years passed quickly, and meanwhile Tamás’s values began to worsen, yet the baby still did not arrive. Although after the transplant no one expected it, no one ever said that having a child would be risky. I never felt endangered; everyone looked after me very thoroughly.

Tamás: No one ever claimed it would be irresponsible. But perhaps Balázs was the most astonished when we showed up pregnant. (laughs)

Noémi: It quickly became a high-risk pregnancy, but thank God I didn’t have to be hospitalized. When my blood pressure rose, I twisted my ankle getting up from the couch, which — willingly or not — forced me to rest more. Fülöp is a miracle, but to experience that after you give away one of your kidneys, two new kidneys begin to develop and grow inside you—it’s indescribable… I often woke up with this thought, and even today it comes to mind frequently, how immense a gift it is to experience this.

Did adoption ever come up?

Noémi: We waited more than ten years for Fülöp. Tamás mentioned adoption several times, but I felt that alongside our two biological children, I might not be able to love an adopted child in the same way. Adorján, however, declared that anyone could come — as long as it was a boy — because living in the same house with a strange girl whom he might even marry one day would be immoral. It was an interesting perspective; we hadn’t thought of that. As the years went by, I eventually asked to look for a family where there were both biological and adopted children. We found one within arm’s reach, almost by fate. The mother confirmed my fears — and yet afterward we agreed: if I wasn’t pregnant by the end of September, we would start the adoption process. On October 2, we received the medical confirmation of Fülöp. We told the siblings that very evening; they were over the moon.

Since then, we often joke that my mother-in-law watched from above as we struggled, then stepped in front of God and said: “Now send a child there immediately.” That was exactly her kind of temperament.

And what is Tamás’s temperament like? I get the impression he wasn’t like this only after the new kidney…

Tamás: Yes, I was energetic even before. As the seventh child, my parents weren’t as strict with me. My father was nearly fifty-five when I was born; sometimes people thought he was my grandfather. In kindergarten they called me “ants-in-the-pants.” Before the surgery I slowed down a bit, but afterward I regained my strength, and I’ve been living my days actively ever since.

Noémi: He exercises regularly, and in 2025 he even won two medals at the World Games for Transplant Recipients. He can never sit still; he’s always looking for new challenges.

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Noémi Somogyi-Adamis and Tamás Farkas Somogyi – Photo: Ágnes Adamis

Briefly, tell us what you did professionally before.

Tamás: I attended several universities, eventually graduating in public administration, then completing a specialization in digital urban development. For many years I worked as a regional representative for a German automotive company, then renovated apartments with my younger brother. Meanwhile, I became a municipal councilor and later a full-time deputy mayor in Páty. I loved my work, but after the surgery it seemed calmer to return to sales.

Noémi: I’m a graphic designer; for years I designed wedding invitations and greeting cards. When I was pregnant with Bendegúz, the colleague working with us moved abroad, which put us in a very difficult situation. The baby was not even two weeks old when I was already conducting interviews. We considered every possible scenario — even closing down. But we had sixty-eight active orders, and we couldn’t let down couples preparing for their weddings. In the end, Tamás went on parental leave.

Tamás: At that time, we were one of Hungary’s largest wedding invitation manufacturers, with more than five hundred orders a year. Everything is handmade.

Noémi: Through designing invitations, I met thousands of couples, and it was always strange to see people often ten or twenty years older than me — many getting married well over forty, when for many of them having children was no longer possible.

Tamás: That’s where the thought came from: to say that this isn’t right, that it can lead to problems.

So the idea of Give Life is not new; fundamentally, we wanted to draw attention to early commitment and starting a family. It may not be right for everyone, but we wanted to show that it is one viable path.

Then life swept us along, and with two children and work, there simply wasn’t room for it at the time.

After the kidney transplant and Fülöp’s birth, how did you finally find time for it?

Noémi: The kidney surgery took place in October, and by December the Give Life Foundation was already registered. Back in 2012, we had secured the domain adjeletet.hu, but after a few years we let it go, and someone else claimed it. Providence helped again: one day it appeared on the list — I kept checking — that it had become available. As soon as it could be registered again, I sat at the computer until midnight so no one else could take it.

Tamás: I’d go back a bit in time. Before the surgery, we had to undergo countless examinations; more and more people kept calling to ask how we were doing, so we created a mailing list to keep everyone informed. Later, Noémi launched the Not Without My Husband blog, where more and more people found us.

Noémi: We ourselves had a hard time finding someone to talk to. We had to fight for every piece of information; it wasn’t even obvious whether spouses could donate kidneys to one another. A lot of time passed for us too before I recognized that this could be a solution. When I mentioned it, Tamás resisted for a long time. That’s when I realized I needed to look for examples. Through the story of a married couple who had gone through this years earlier, we saw that there is life after spousal transplantation. Yet it isn’t part of public awareness, and we wanted to change that — so we stepped into the public eye. I only wanted one thing: that it might occur to someone else that they could be suitable. No one asks a relative to give them a kidney, but if a loved one is in trouble and we hear about such a possibility, we might begin to consider it.

Tamás: That’s also why we didn’t stop the blog after launching the foundation — because we saw that people turn to it sooner; it feels more personal than an organization.

Noémi: Many people read my blog; I’m still surprised by how many people each of my posts reaches. We started receiving invitations to give testimony — not only about the surgery, but about the marital love that led to it. We see the greatest value in reaching society through young people, which is why we have repeatedly given talks to high-school and university communities.

Tamás: The rate of living donation could still be improved here, which is why it’s so important to talk about it. As we reached more and more places, the media began inviting us more often, and in the meantime the foundation also took on an increasingly significant role.

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Photo: Give Life Foundation

What has been achieved since then?

Tamás: We support and promote giving life based on two pillars: birth — giving life as a parent — and rebirth — giving life as a donor. Both are close to our hearts. With the help of Dr. Balázs Bálint, who is a member of our board, we also participate in education: we have a childbirth simulator doll for teaching breech birth. We launched the Traveling Cradle program, the Night of Families, created a studio, and are working on a donor card. Our next plan is to promote reading.

Noémi: The Traveling Cradle is a beautiful piece made by a Transylvanian woodcarver, decorated with the foundation’s logo and folk motifs. So far, we’ve searched for babies ourselves, but soon there will be a page where anyone can apply. We initially planned five events for the Night of Families.

We walk through the entire process of life: the first topic was couplehood and marriage, the second the blessing of children and becoming a family — both sold out in October and November.

The next event, titled Longing for and Waiting for a Child, will take place in January, followed by Trials Within the Family, and finally The Legacy of the Family — Our Roles Across Generations. More information is available on the foundation’s website.

Tamás: Originally, we planned a multi-day retreat for newlyweds, but this way we can reach many more people. We’re planning a continuation. We would like it to become nationwide one day, like the Night of Museums. Another idea is to spend a whole week — similar to Marriage Week — talking about families, with other cities joining in. We’ve also started building our YouTube channel, and the studio helps with producing high-quality content. We continue social education by building on children’s receptiveness. It’s a huge thing when a teenager mentions us at home — it shows we’ve captured their attention, and through them, their parents’ as well.

Do you have other plans as well?

Noémi: Adorján reads a great deal — we don’t have a television, and for a long time they didn’t even have other smart devices. At eleven or twelve, he launched the Úgyis le-books! YouTube channel —Read a book, because you’ll get caught with your gadget anyway! Móra Publishing noticed him, sent him books, invited him to their events, and he has even conducted author interviews for them when new books were released. Through the Válaszutak program on Kossuth Radio, he has already gained serious experience.

Tamás: Our eldest son happily participates in our programs and will be a key figure in the upcoming writer–reader meetings aimed at young people. In addition, the head of the outpatient department at the Transplantation Clinic, Dr. Szilárd Török, has implemented many innovative ideas — we are currently expanding the reading corner he created together with Móra Publishing. We have many ideas; we’ll see which ones we can bring to life.

The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

Dániel János Daróczi, a physics student at the Faculty of Science of Eötvös Loránd University, is developing a wearable technology within the Anchor Dynamics project that uses artificial intelligence and sensors to detect the signs of movement instability — and prevent falls before they happen.

What motivated you to embark on developing such an extraordinary invention?

My mother has been living with Parkinson’s disease for twelve years, which means I have had to face this illness since early childhood. That alone would be a powerful impulse for anyone. Through my mother, I came into contact with the patient community, where I met people like her in hospitals, during treatments, and within tightly knit patient groups.

These encounters reinforced my impression that the conventional problems most people associate with the disease — such as tremors — can now be treated to some extent, thank God. Surgical interventions are available in several neurological conditions, such as deep brain stimulation, which can reduce tremors in patients.

At the same time, these experiences made me realize that the greatest burden of the disease is the fear of falling.

That realization left a deep mark on me.

This aspect of the illness is rarely discussed.

Symptoms can be alleviated to a certain degree, but no medication can prevent a patient from losing their balance and falling.

Is loss of balance related to tremors?

It’s an important question, but there is no direct connection between the two symptoms. On the one hand, medications themselves can worsen balance; on the other, the disease also affects it. And then there are elderly people who have not been diagnosed with any illness, yet still suffer from frequent falls.

If we think about it, hip fractures among elderly relatives occur in almost every family. This is a serious issue because it can be demonstrated quantitatively that in people over the age of 65 hospitalized with such injuries the mortality rate exceeds 25 percent. Patients do not die directly from the fall or the fracture, but from the consequences: they are bedridden for montsh, weaken physically, lose their appetite and their health indicators decline. Beyond this, the mental impact is also significant: the vulnerable state they find themselves in, the loss of autonomy, self-confidence and self-esteem.

What can be done in such cases?

The options are fairly limited. We can place the patient in a wheelchair, but then they lose even the minimal muscle activity and coordination they would otherwise retain through movement. This is why patients themselves dislike this solution — they are reluctant to give up their freedom of movement.

At the same time, moving freely can be dangerous. My mother falls frequently, hits her head, and suffers abrasions. This is extremely difficult to handle both for the patient and for those who care for them.

In one of your lectures, you said that in an average Hungarian family there are two people living with neurodegenerative diseases (such as sclerosis multiplex, Alzheimer’s disease or Huntington’s disease), as well as one person who has suffered a stroke.

Worldwide, nine million people live with Parkinson’s disease, and tens of millions suffer from other conditions where falling is a potential consequence. There are also hundreds of millions of elderly people who do not suffer from any specific illness but are still affected due to impaired motor coordination.

I have long been thinking about how this problem could be addressed technologically, because I believe that many of the world’s challenges can be solved through technology.

Our project was launched within the framework of the Hungarian Startup University Program, which supports university students. The Faculty of Science at ELTE also has a focal unit that helps turn ideas into reality. I submitted an application that was accepted, allowing me to form a team and participate in a competition where we were able to secure financial support to launch the project.

Who makes up the team?

An engineer, a programmer, and myself as a physicist.

What is each team member responsible for?

The engineer oversees the hardware implementation, primarily the development of the sensor system. The programmer is responsible for the software, ensuring that—with the help of artificial intelligence—we can train the system on human movement patterns and thus predict loss of balance and falls. I am responsible for mathematical modeling and communication.

How does the invention of Anchor Dynamics detect signs of movement instability?

The sensing software attempts to make mathematical predictions based on movement patterns.

The idea is somewhat reminiscent of the sci-fi film Minority Report, where precogs predict crimes before they happen, allowing police to intervene in advance. What prevents the patient from actually falling?

The system is built on three pillars. The first is sensing. Human movement and balance are coordinated through the cooperation of visual input, the balance organs in the inner ear and the brain. This is what we need to model and replace technologically.

We have built a sensor system that includes multiple sensors placed on different parts of the body. Each sensor contains an accelerometer, a gyroscope and a magnetometer. When placed on the limbs, this system can “tell” the user’s current physical state.

So the invention has to be worn?

Exactly. With sensors placed on the legs, we can determine how the leg is moving at any given moment. This constitutes the sensing component. The next step is predicting what will happen based on the collected data.

This is where machine learning and AI come into play. Purely physical modeling is insufficient to determine future outcomes, but with AI, the system learns how the patient typically moves, specifically learning the individual’s unique movement patterns.

When an anomaly is detected — when a fall becomes likely — the system intervenes.

How can the system recognize the precursors of a fall if it has never “seen” one before?

We feed various movement forms into a program that simulates real-world behavior and multiplies the data. It’s as if we were moving a virtual mannequin according to the patient’s movements, then replicating that mannequin countless times.

This means we don’t need to observe a person for tens of thousands of hours, the artificial intelligence learns from simulated data. The algorithm learns from a massive amount of incoming information. The software itself already exists; it just wasn’t developed for this purpose originally.

How long does it take for the AI to adapt to a specific person?

A few hours. From the moment the product is purchased, one day is enough for the system to learn the patient’s movement patterns.

Incredible. What exactly is this wearable robotic device, which you have named an exoskeleton?

You can imagine it as an external skeleton worn on the body — hence the name — that can improve the wearer’s movement.

We understand that intervention is possible before a fall occurs, but who or what actually prevents the fall?

The exoskeleton applies counterforce at the joints. When the patient can no longer correct their movement on their own and would otherwise fall, the system intervenes and holds them back.

Electric motors mounted on the exoskeleton generate the necessary forces at the joints.

Could the system fail to intervene, or intervene insufficiently?

Of course, unforeseen situations can always occur, for example, if the patient trips over an object. But we have considered this as well. We are already planning to integrate an airbag system similar to those used in cars. This technology already exists and is used by motorcyclists. We want to incorporate it so that our system provides comprehensive protection.

When could the device become reality and enter a testing phase?

We have focused primarily on software development. The invention can become a real product once the software is perfected—once it can make accurate predictions—and once we succeed in integrating our technology into an external partner’s product.

Exoskeletons already exist today, for example in the military, the tourism sector, and in rehabilitation, and the market is growing rapidly. Integrating our invention into an existing product would make the implementation faster and more cost-effective.

How much would it cost to produce the final product?

Tens of millions of forints would be required before full realization. First, we need to create a pilot project that can demonstrate the product, after which it could become widely accessible.

We have already established at the beginning of the conversation that there is a clear need for such a solution.

As populations age, the problem will grow exponentially. Yet this invention could save enormous costs: from hospital beds and overburdened healthcare staff to medication and caregiver fees, and the financial, physical, and mental exhaustion of families.

The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

Klára founded the Magis Choir more than twenty years ago, and in 2013 she created the smaller Fényi Chamber Choir within it. With them she performs one musical every year. In recent seasons she has staged works such as Ignatius, the knight of souls, The Wizard of Oz, and Joseph and the amazing technicolor dreamcoat. This year they chose The Stars of Eger (ed.note: a musical based on the famous historical novel of Géza Gárdonyi about the 1552 siege of Eger, in which the castle’s warriors triumphed against overwhelming Ottoman forces). The students have been familiarizing themselves with the piece since December, but the actual collaborative work began only in February — a miracle in itself, given that this two-act, three-hour historical musical has 54 scenes and features 110 children.

Their tour opens in Tiszafüred. When we arrive, the final rehearsal before the premiere is already in full swing at the local cultural center. Teenagers are singing and dancing in the courtyard while Turkish music plays in the background. On stage, Jumurdzsák is just abducting little Jancsika from his playmates.

“This is the first time we’ve gathered since graduation,” Klára begins. The past days have been intense: rehearsals, interviews, organizing the tour — all the while she anxiously awaited her seniors’ final exam results. “One of the lead actors wrote his advanced-level Spanish exam this morning, and now he’s here.”

She treats them as colleagues

When I watched Klára’s introduction video, one question immediately came to my mind: how does one manage so many students — especially teenagers? Watching the rehearsal, we soon discovered the secret.

“In the choir we have smaller groups we call workshops, and each has a workshop leader,” Klára explains. “They are students who have been with the choir for a long time, so I can confidently entrust them with responsibilities.” In The Stars of Eger nine workshops and nine character groups appear: the warriors, the janissaries, the free folk, the Amazons, the enchantresses, the doubters, the loyal, the destined, and the children.

Each workshop represents a type of personality with its own strengths and limitations. The warriors are loyal but prone to overcommitting; the janissaries show little emotion but follow rules strictly. “First I describe each type in detail, and the students choose the one that best matches their current stage in life. They usually end up in that workshop. In a way, they are playing themselves — which helps them understand and get to know themselves better,” Klára explains.

Once the workshops are formed, she uses community-building games to bring the members closer. The choir rehearses every Tuesday after classes and also holds monthly choir weekends — intensive creative sessions when they stay together, eat together and sleep in the school gymnasium.

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Photo: István Kissimon

According to Klára, the greatest value of their productions is that the young people create everything themselves.
“I only set them on stage,” she says. “Some of them dance at a professional level — they take the lead in developing the choreography.

“I don’t believe in hierarchical teacher–student relationships. We are colleagues working together. 

The final production is a shared creation. Sometimes I grumble, but they’re just as free to express their dissatisfaction.”

While Klára checks one of the scenes, we step outside to talk to a few students. A cheerful group of girls — the enchantresses, the sultan’s harem women — volunteer enthusiastically.

“She is very caring, like a grandmother with her grandchildren, yet she can be strict when needed,” says twelfth-grader Borka Sára Szalay. Final-year student Vince Posta shares similar thoughts: “Klári néni is very determined, but she’s also like a mother hen — she pays attention to each of us individually. She doesn’t just see the student — she sees who we truly are.”

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Photo: István Kissimon

Even the shy ones open up

Klára is incredibly proud of her students, who join the choir voluntarily. Some are shy, others inexperienced in choral singing — but she never turns them away. She gives them time and space to become comfortable.

“Some choose to stand in the back row at first; for others a simple smile is enough encouragement. From performance to performance, I see how they open up,” she says.

This happened to Vince, who plays István Dobó (ed.note: the captain of the Castle of Eger). “I sang in choirs and music school throughout primary school, so I joined here as well. Singing with others has always lifted me up, though singing alone was hard for me. But that slowly changed. Klári néni always encouraged us to dare to step into the center of the stage and pull the others with us — then success is certain,” he recalls. He first performed in ninth grade; a year later he had a leading role in The Wizard of Oz. “At the beginning I didn’t dare open up even to my choir mates — now I can talk easily with them and with others as well.”

Every senior receives at least one short solo.

Alongside some final-year boys, newcomers — including two eighth-graders — are responsible for sound engineering, and alumni also return to help. “The performers want me cheering them on from the wings, so it’s a big help that former students take on some of this work,” Klára says. She is also grateful to music director Edina Orosz Tokár, who helps the students learn the songs and improve their singing.

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Photo: István Kissimon

Shared prayer, shared future

All four year groups of the high school are represented in the choir. “In the workshops we get to know each other better — something we don’t always have time for in school,” says senior Jázmin Boncsér. The choir members, she says, really do “grow together.” “After graduation, the seniors still meet up — some even rent apartments together afterwards.”

Last year’s musical was performed twenty times — at their own school, at other high schools and elementary schools, and at city events. When choosing tour locations, Klára also considers where her students come from.

“We perform in several places across the country because many of us live far from Miskolc,” Jázmin explains. “That’s why we’re here in Tiszafüred, and why we’ll be in Budapest too. When we performed Ignatius, we even appeared at the Erkel Theatre. I was only in ninth grade then — it was incredible to stand on a stage where great artists perform.” She also loves the choir weekends: “At night Klári néni sends us to sleep by drawing a small cross on our foreheads.”

Klára treasures many memories — for example, the night before the final show of last year’s tour, when the whole group gathered: “After the last performance, the seniors stood before the others and encouraged them to persevere until the very end. Their emotional speech made the ninth-graders cry too — and the seniors asked, puzzled: ‘Why are you crying? You still have three more years!’”

I ask Klára whether she has noticed changes in young people over the past forty years. “We live in a different world, but I address them the same way I did earlier generations — and it still works.” She has, however, noticed changes in herself: “My students have influenced me too, not only I them. I pay even closer attention to the more sensitive children now. And because I lead such a large group, I’ve had to become more precise, planning further ahead.”

Klára excuses herself — the musical begins in a few minutes, and she is the one introducing it. On stage, the workshops present themselves, then the performance continues with striking scenes and catchy songs. We must leave after the first act, but all the way home I can still hear István Dobó’s voice in my ears, and I still see the enthusiastic young faces:

“Time drifts by like the light
summer clouds,
but to deny the past
is the coward’s choice.

Stay Hungarian,
beautiful and free!”

This article was written with the professional support of the MOL – New Europe Foundation.

The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

Emese is a young writer and blogger, author of the book and audiobook *Mesi-mesék*, and owner of the website *Emese e-meséi* (ed. note: meaning Mesi's tales and Emese's e-tales, both word-plays in Hungarian). Her greatest undertaking, however, is her own life. To live freely and independently, she must build a support network — a small community of around twenty people who help her according to both pre-scheduled and individual arrangements. Some members of this team will be volunteers, others will come from foundations or be paid assistants, and together they must ensure Emese’s daily care, mobility, and space for creativity. Anyone wishing to join her team can apply through her support page, where all conditions are listed.

Emese and Orsolya met in 2013 at the annual youth camp for people with mobility impairments organized by the Maltese Charity Service, and they have been friends ever since.

Within this community, Orsolya is considered a “biped” and her volunteer work is intertwined with their friendship. Both women feel that society still struggles deeply — and therefore tends to treat as taboo — the dignified care and active-life opportunities for people with severe disabilities. Their aim, including by this article, is to stimulate and gently reshape public thinking, even if only on a nano-scale. So that, over time, this topic might transform from “problem” into “challenge,” and from challenge into shared success.

The only chance: building a support network

They have both observed that raising a child with a disability can either bring parents closer together or drive them apart. Often one parent is forced to stay home full-time with the child, while the other does everything possible to provide for the family. The intense lifestyle often ends in divorce. When the family burns out after three or four decades, and the child with a disability becomes an adult, they find themselves in a vacuum.

Large institutions operate with long waiting lists, and the conditions are far from ideal. These facilities are typically designed for chronically ill, elderly, or multiply disabled residents. They usually provide some form of supported employment, but these tasks require minimal creativity — because that’s the type subsidized by the state.

Due to the now extreme shortage of human resources, burnout among workers in the sector is practically constant.
“As long as a child is underage, there is some institutional background behind them. But a person with quadriplegia and full cognitive abilities no longer fits the system as an adult. They are not even eligible for supported housing, because that requires a certain level of independence,” says Emese. “Nursing homes ask for entrance fees in the millions, and then charge monthly fees — while an adult woman in a wheelchair is not an elderly patient and does not belong among the residents.”

“They don’t want to spend their days lying in bed like everyone else in those facilities. They want to get dressed in the morning, work, go to the theater — in other words, live like any typical Képmás.hu reader.”

Both Emese and Orsolya know that the only real chance for a fulfilling life is to organize a support network around an autonomous disabled person. A team large enough to provide all the help required — and with each person taking on only as much as they can do with goodwill.

“Just so I can go to the bathroom three times a day, eat, have meals prepared, and live an active life, I need around eighteen people. My partner has the same disability as I do, and he already has a working support network,” Emese explains.

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Photos from Emese Rusznák

Help cannot exist only during office hours

Emese suffered a neonatal stroke caused by oxygen deprivation at birth. She lives with conditions commonly seen after a stroke; her twin sibling died from similar injuries on the first day of life. If she can prop her elbow on a table, she can eat from a plate — but she needs assistance with everything else. Her entire future now depends on whether she can gather enough supporters and build the team that will allow her to live independently.

“I’ve been going to the Maltese Charity Service’s camps for young people with mobility impairments for years. Every year I volunteered as an assistant; I love it — it’s close to my heart,” says Orsolya. “My husband is also disabled, and in the last two camps I participated as his assistant. My disabled friends who live alone use detailed weekly schedules — just like Emese. Someone has to assist them three or four times a day, which can be managed by many or few helpers, depending on what each person is willing to take on. At one point, I was the ‘Tuesday evening’ helper for a young man.”

Several municipalities and foundations operate support services, but these function mostly during office hours — because, as the saying goes, “a well-behaved wheelchair user has no needs after 6 p.m. or on weekends.”

The gaps in the system must be filled by friends and acquaintances. This is how something that is an automatic part of daily life for “bipeds” can cost someone else 20,000–25,000 forints per day.

Some countries — those with what Emese calls a “luckier historical development” — provide state support for personal assistance because autonomy includes the right to such help. In Hungary this request has not yet found receptive ears, though the concept exists. Emese believes that supporting personal assistance would also be financially beneficial for the state: people with high support needs could become tax-paying citizens. This requires not only money, but genuine dialogue.

From child role to marriage and poetry

A few years ago, Emese moved out of her mother’s home. Her mother had grown exhausted from years of constant caregiving and isolation — something Emese had to recognize. Like many in similar situations, Emese lived in a “child role” at home, and she, too, needed to leave the nest. With her father’s help, she began to build a new, adult life. The start of autonomy was full of anxiety, but now the apartment is almost ready and the support team is gradually taking shape.

“My husband is also quadriplegic. He had an accident 32 years ago, and over time he built his own support network. 

He has a housekeeper, a physical therapist, and sometimes we get external help at night as well. He smartly rented out a room to a hospital nurse at a reduced price, and she can step in during emergencies.

I also do my share — it’s a natural part of our daily life. In the beginning I was one of his ‘built-in’ helpers, and he slowly tested what kind of care tasks I could take on. Every six months we introduced new, more intimate situations. We got married two years ago,” Orsolya says.

Around the time Emese moved out, she saw an elderly wheelchair user woman in a shockingly neglected state. Everyone passed by — and so did she. But the image haunted her, she dreamed about the woman and couldn’t shake the distress. Friends suggested to write down the experience and then throw away the paper. Instead of discarding it, Emese turned the writing into a poster-poem advertising the emergency hotline of the Shelter Foundation. As a writer and blogger, she wanted to preserve the experience in a form that would grab the attention of the passers-by and bring the phone number into focus.

“Luckily, I have a good chance of never ending up like that woman. I’ll always have at least enough money to enter a facility — though I don’t want to. I need to figure out who I really am and what I want to do with my life, because until now I didn’t have the opportunity. What I do know is that community involvement will always be part of my life.”

Emese’s poster-poem is now awaiting a designer, a printer, and volunteers to put it up on the streets.

Emese Rusznák
I should have stopped

I should have stopped —
should have looked past my own ego.
If I had done that, stayed fully present,
I might not only have *noticed*, but *understood*
that the old woman beside me, in her torn wheelchair,
in the dirt of the street, in her own bodily fluids,
was completely helpless.
She may have been there for weeks. Barely conscious —
yet no one seemed to notice. Everyone just walked by.
“Street furniture,” next to the elevator. The crowd rushes past.
Some glance her way,
a few recoil,
muttering as they leave:
“I’ll catch an infection here.
How can they leave her like that?
Somebody should do something.”
Others look, startled —
poor woman, they whisper.
They never imagined such a thing.
They’d never allow this to happen —
but today they’re in a hurry.
And anyway, they don’t know how to help.
They’d probably make things worse.
So — like me — they walk away.
Yes. I did the same.
I became an anonymous part of the crowd.
Since then, I sleep worse.
I look for my own face
but only see hers.
The woman I left behind in the filthy elevator doorway,
abandoned in her own waste.
I rushed off,
telling myself I had something urgent to do.
Maybe she is still standing there.
Surely she is no longer conscious.
Yet sometimes I feel her eyes on me,
asking: “Where are you going?”
What should I have done?
I should have stopped. Just stopped
and dialed a few numbers: +36 1 338 4186 / 1, 104
told them what I saw,
and waited
until a social worker or paramedic —
one of those everyday heroes —
came for her.
If I had stopped,
I could live now with the comfort —
or illusion —
that someone received from me who knows how many extra days,
maybe even a chance
to be noticed,
treated,
and taken somewhere
where she is no longer “street furniture,”
but a tired elderly woman with the right — and the possibility —
to live.
But I didn’t believe in illusions.
and I didn’t have the time.
So I did nothing.
I simply walked away.
And look at me now —
years later,
sitting here, typing this long piece,
barely able to continue,
but forced to — because if I don’t,
I will see her face again.
I feel her eyes on me, asking: “Where are you going?”
If you don’t want to end up like me —
haunted by the faces of those
you didn’t help
because you were “in a hurry” —
then sometimes you just have to stop.
Dial the numbers: +36 1 338 4186 / 1, +36 1 338 4186 / 2, 104 —
and wait for help to arrive.
If you do that, you won’t end up like me.
In fact, you might even save a life.

The English translation of both the article and the poem was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

Where does your social sensitivity and compassion for the people living on the periphery come from?

My father was a general practitioner in the countryside, and my mother worked alongside him as an assistant. The family home was connected to the doctor’s office, and anyone could come in at any time — the door was always open. At Christmas and Easter my mother prepared packages, and my siblings and I delivered them to the poor.

Whenever someone rang the bell to ask my father for money or help, he never turned them away.

This kind of sensitivity is my parents’ legacy. For more than ten years, every Wednesday I’ve visited my homeless friends with the Community of Sant’Egidio. That’s where I understood that this is not just a feeling, but a commitment to those living on the periphery of society. This experience taught me how little is needed to be happy.

Did these encounters spark a desire to seek out others with similarly difficult lives?

I had no such desire. I thought I would live my life teaching at the Budai Cistercian St. Imre High School and visiting my homeless friends — but I felt more and more that I wasn’t in the right place.

An elite high school, with all its challenges, can be an inexhaustible source of success. What was missing?

To this day I’m grateful, because I had very talented students who won national competitions. I can’t say I had an unsuccessful career. I remember that the annual performance review always included the question: “What are you proud of?” I regularly wrote that I wasn’t proud — I was grateful. It was among my homeless friends that I realized how grateful I could be for my family and my students. That gratitude unconsciously brought out a sense of obligation in me: I couldn’t just swim in satisfaction or bask in glory — I had to do something.

During silent contemplative retreats in the summer, I kept asking the Lord to show me where I belonged. Four years ago, I realized we must first live through the wilderness before we are given a mission, and so I left St. Imre.

I kept nothing from my past; I burned every bridge behind me. I wept, because I had to grieve the twenty-seven years I had spent at the school — and in that letting go, I heard where I needed to go.

I began teaching in prison, and only then did I realize that when I was seventeen or eighteen, searching for my path, I opened the Scriptures to the passage where Jesus reads in the synagogue: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives.” For decades I interpreted it symbolically and prayed for people living with addiction — I never imagined I would actually teach inside a prison one day.

How did your family react to you leaving a secure job?

They just stared, wondering what was happening. I can’t say they were thrilled — one of my sons in particular was very frightened. They were worried, yet they supported me and trusted me.

Weren’t you afraid to walk through the prison gates alone?

From the moment I felt the calling, a deep certainty and sense of safety settled in my heart. It never even occurred to me to be afraid. I remember the excitement lasted only a few minutes on the first day, and from then on I felt I was exactly where I belonged.

What is worth teaching to inmates?

From the very first moment I sensed that my role was not primarily to transmit knowledge. When I prepare for a class, I try to find the “heart” of the text. With my sixth-graders we are reading Toldi now. It is beautiful how Miklós experiences being lost, stuck and without a home in the reed-bed. These emotions are something inmates can deeply relate to.

When I teach the Baroque period, I focus on the struggle between good and evil, and I bring them Géza Röhrig’s poem Stereo, in which the devil and the angel whisper in one’s ear. They also like to articulate their inner battles, which makes the literary works personal.

I imagine the environment and resources are much poorer than in a high school in Buda…

I gathered textbooks from different schools. And I have what I bring with me: my experience, my knowledge, my ability to tune into them. I often sing or recite poems for them. Many of them are transferred to another prison during the year, or arrive in the middle of the term, so I never know how many hours they will have with me — which makes every single class important. I try to make them feel their humanity and dignity here and now.

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You approach them with trust and understanding. Are they able to treat each other the same way?

This is an exciting question, because my goal for them is not just to open up, but to pay attention to one another. I studied nonviolent communication and still teach it today, inside the prison as well. They live in different cells, so they don’t know each other. It takes a few months until they can connect at some level. It’s not about sharing life stories, but expressing opinions.

How manageable are these adult men? Do they show respect?

They sense that I treat them with full respect and address them with human dignity — and I receive the same in return. I have never once experienced disrespect.

I currently teach in Kozma Street Prison, where twenty men can fit into the classroom, but in Vác there were forty men sitting in front of me — which is quite a challenge as the only woman present. Still, the atmosphere of trust was so strong that I was never afraid, not even for a moment.

If someone crosses a line, the others warn him. Discipline is mostly needed when inmates who know each other end up in the same class and want to chat. Then I tell them to stop — or sometimes I give them five minutes to talk, and we continue afterwards.

What consequences can follow misbehavior?

If I had serious problems with someone, he would be banned from studying and lose the monthly 20,000 forints he receives for attending classes. The stakes are high, but it has never come to that. A single sentence is enough — they apologize immediately if they’ve crossed a boundary.

Do the circumstances allow for personal, one-on-one conversations?

If something is weighing on them, I listen and respond briefly. They tell me things like: “Ma’am, I can’t concentrate today — I have serious problems at home,” or that a close family member died. But long personal conversations — pastoral or educational in nature — aren’t possible, because they are escorted back to their cells right after class.

It must be difficult to balance empathy with not carrying their burdens yourself.

Serving the homeless was an important school for me in this regard — every week we face the fact that we cannot “save” them. But in the moment of the encounter, I can give attention and love. I experience the same in prison. Yes, I have cried, because I was deeply touched by someone’s story. One inmate lost his ten-year-old child during COVID. I was teaching the Bible, and he asked how he could trust God after that. The following Sunday at Mass we received a leaflet about spiritual adoption. It passed through my mind to take it to the prison. Before class, while the others were gathering, I gave it to him and said: prayer has helped me a lot — try it, maybe it will help you too.

Two or three weeks later he thanked me, saying that his heart felt lighter. He told me he plugs his ears at night so outside noise won’t disturb him, and he prays.

At the high school it already became clear to me — and I believe it now even more — that I want to love my students toward God. Every day I spend two and a half hours commuting, and during that time I pray for them. I’m not the one carrying their burdens — in prayer I place them before God. I have been a member of the Verbum Dei Missionary Family for twenty years; they also pray for me and for the inmates. That means a lot.

How do you unwind from the emotional load of the work?

I usually say: my work is my hobby. In addition to the prison, I have other jobs that I also experience as hobbies. I edit and host two programs at Magyar Katolikus Rádió, I conduct cultural interviews for Bartók Rádió, and starting in January I will write about my prison experiences for the Szemlélek blog. I also teach literature in the art-therapy program at the Sapientia University. Besides that, I go to theatre and movies, hike, and spend a lot of time with my family.

If you could go back in time, would you choose the same path?

Our vocation is to let God shape us into His image. In this shared vocation, I was given the talent to be a teacher — a great gift for me. I would choose the same again. Certainly, there are moments I’d evaluate differently today, but I can accept the decisions I made.

So you’re satisfied with your life?

I would rather say that I am a happy person. Happiness for me is not a life goal — it is a gift. I am grateful because I have received everything I considered important, and even things I never dared to formulate as desires.

This interview originally appeared in the April 2025 issue of Képmás magazine.
The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.

With love on the road to success

"Life is uncertain, start with dessert!" – readns a sign in a pastry shop in Buda. And it's right: what could be more uncertain around Christmas than beigli? Fortunately, all our questions can be answered accurately here, as the pastry shop keeps scoring high in the Bejgli of the Year competition almost every year. But let's not get ahead of ourselves!

The café opened in 2008, owned by two friends, Zsuzsa Kiss Károlyné and Bernadett Nagyné Haán. The two ladies have been friends for decades, having attended catering college together. Before opening the café, they both taught pastry at the Szamos Mátyás Vocational High School. Their friendship is enduring and they work in harmony.

Their first pastry shop was not big, but it was filled with heart. But after a while, the 32 square metres became too small: as they won more and more prizes, their popularity grew. 

In 2013, the confectionery won the prestigious Cake of Hungary competition with its Milotai Honey Nut Cake. The media made their name known, and as Zsuzsa Kiss Károlyné says, they were put on the stage of Budapest's confectioners. 

But the reason for the increase in sales is not only that, she says, the customers can feel the love they put into their sweets. Their clientele has expanded and their success has continued ever since. 

As they became more popular locally, they decided to expand their business: they bought the hairdresser's shop next door and turned it into a café. Riding on the wave of success, they have grown enormously, and have also entered the Hungarian Confectioners' Association's Bejgli of the Year competition with more confidence.

This year, Zsuzsa Károlyné Kiss entered the competition for the third time and has never come home without a place. Two years ago she came third in the poppy seed roll category, last year she also won bronze for her poppy seed roll and silver for her walnut-filled one, and was awarded the Elemér Auguszt special prize, which goes to the pastry chef with the highest number of placings. This year, she again took third place in the walnut bejgli competition. 

These achievements seem even more impressive knowing that the judges rank the pastries on a blind test basis.

If anyone, it's Zsuzsa Kiss Károlyné, who can answer any question about baking beigli, although she modestly admits that every success is the result of teamwork, as they test and taste the bejgli entered for the competition together. She believes that the jury appreciates the taste created in their pastry shop and the fact that the filling of the rolls is not over-seasoned. She also shares some useful tips with the readers of Képmás. We enter the workshop, where a cross above the doorway marks that we are entering an almost sacramental space.

How to make the perfect beigli

Many people get stuck when they are confronted with the selection of flour in the shop. Zsuzsa simplifies the formula: for baking beigli, BL 55 flour is the best. She mixes the flour dry with the fat, butter, and a little lard (the latter increases the crumbliness of the dough and keeps the sweetness fresh for longer). This is necessary to ensure that the flour granules are surrounded by fat so that the liquid added later cannot reach the grains. This prevents the flour from becoming paste-like.

Before kneading the dough, we should divide the amount of milk needed. In one part, Zsuzsa dissolves the salt, which is essential because without it the dough will not brown sufficiently. She also mixes the egg yolks with the salted milk. The yeast is added to the other half of the milk. 

Then put the flour, mixed with the fat, into the bowl, add the salted-sugar-egg yolk milk, mix it slightly, and add the other half of the milk with the yeast, says Mrs Kiss. Knead the dough. Next, measure out the dough: 23 decagrams are needed to make one beigli-roll. Roll the dough into dumplings and place them in the fridge for 30 minutes. 

Zsuzsa Kiss Károlyné adds two types of walnuts to the walnut beigli, plain and roasted, with bigger pieces of the latter to give the customer a variety of textures. 

The nuts should be of very good quality, she suggests, the ones they use at the Major come from Zala county. Lemon, and orange peel, as well as vanilla, are also used in the filling. Zsuzsa mixes the nut filling with water.
 

The secret to the poppy seed version, the pastry chef tells us, is to grind the poppy seeds as finely as possible, as the finer you grind them, the more the flavours come out. They always use Hungarian poppy seeds mixed with milk, which blends better with the flavour of the poppy seeds. In both fillings, she also adds honey, raisins, and peeled chopped apple cubes. Of course, she always adjusts the product a little, thanks to constant development and the incorporation of new knowledge. So the long-used recipe for beigli is constantly being refined.

Once the dough has rested, she stretches it into a rectangle and places the filling on top.  For one roll you need 30 decagrams of filling. Zsuzsa also rolls out the dough between two sheets of foil until it is almost the size of the dough. This step is also crucial, as this way she doesn't press the filling over the dough. This is because if we flatten the filling on top of the dough, the dough may thin out, become damaged, and crack more easily during baking. 

Stroking is the most important

The next essential step is to roll up the beigli: Zsuzsa folds in the two edges to a centimetre, and then rolls up the dough very loosely. Don't squeeze it tightly, just as loosely as you can, let it roll under its own weight, the pastry chef warns. 

Many people know, correctly, that you need to make evenly spaced holes along the body and sides of the beigli-dough with a fork or toothpick before baking, but the key is when and how. 

In fact, the beigli has to be brushed with a beaten egg mixture twice (two yolks are beaten with a whole egg to make a homogeneous mixture). "First, brush the top and the sides of the beigli with the mixture and then let it dry. Then you have to brush it again and wait for the egg to dry again. Then you can make the little holes. If you don't wait till the egg mixture is completely dry, then it can block the holes and the steam cannot evaporate," explains Mrs Kiss. 

Zsuzsa starts the baking at 200 degrees Celsius, then after 8 minutes lowers the temperature to 180 degrees Celsius, where the dough is baked for 14 more minutes. It is worth noting that the bakery uses high-powered industrial ovens, which allow the baking temperature to be adjusted precisely. Therefore, Zsuzsa Kiss Károlyné advises setting the temperature a little higher in the home oven - which is less accurate - and perhaps bake a little longer until the pastry is light brown. (You can buy a thermometer suitable for exact measurements from kitchen appliance shops.)

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Photo: Tamás Velkei

Many people get discouraged when looking in the oven they see that their beigli has burst. To avoid this, it is necessary to make the dough as well as the filling with the same consistency. When I ask how we can tell, Zsuzsa says that they check it by touch.  

"I stroke every beigli when I put it on the plate, and by doing so, I also bless them," says Mrs Kiss. 

She adds that humility is very important when baking beigli (and in the pastry profession in general), if we are impatient, or in a hurry, and don't give the dough the right respect, that will result in disaster. 

With Christmas fast approaching, everyone's calendar getting full, so we also ask how much time before the big day you can make the beigli. The experienced pastry chef says it's safe to bake it up to 3-4 days before Christmas and store it wrapped in the fridge. But be careful, Zsuzsa warns, not to wrap the beigli in foil until they are completely cold.
 

"Look, a rainbow!" – I tap on the windowshield with a smile, because it seems that even the heavens say that today is a promising day! We are accompanying the Ambassador of Poland and Renata Winerowicz-Papp, an expert from the Embassy's Political-Economic Department, on their trip to the countryside. As part of the program, the diplomat and his companion will visit Veszprém and an Árpád-era village, Küngös, as the final episode of the St. Kinga 800 celebrations.

This journey is about a lot more than St Kinga, whose rich life and cult, especially in Poland, could fill pages. 

The most important thing is what the veneration of our common saints says about the friendship between our two nations, and how we can use these cults to keep the relationship alive and deepen it. 

"I wish that through her example you’d find friendship between the two nations" 

Our first destination is the Padányi Catholic School, where Ambassador Sebastian Kęciek meets not only the headmaster and teachers but also the students. The institution has a strong tradition of religious education, and Polish-Hungarian relations are also intensively cultivated. A good example of this is that Renata – who is Polish and, as she puts it, flew to our country "on the wings of love" when she was young – has worked for decades on the school's teaching staff, and by doing so she has deepened the love of Polish people in her surroundings and helped to organize Polish-Hungarian exchange programs.

Who was St. Kinga?
St. Kinga (1224-1292) is a prominent figure in Polish and Hungarian history, whose life is a good example of loving service and rule. Born the daughter of King Béla IV of Hungary and the Byzantine princess Mary Lazkaris, she became a major figure in Polish history at the age of 15. Her father married her to Prince Boleslav of Krakow, to strengthen the political alliance between the two countries, and they took a vow of chastity together, which later gave Boleslav the nickname 'The Pious'. The couple dedicated their entire lives to serving God. Legend has it that he brought the first salt miners from Hungary and introduced the art of salt extraction to Poland. She is credited with the famous salt mines of Wieliczka, one of the mine chambers is named after her, and this contributed to the country's economic boom. After Boleslav's death, Kinga entered the Monastery of the Poor Clare Sisters in Stary Sącz, which she founded herself. She served the needy until her death, for which she was venerated as a saint during her lifetime. Saint Kinga was beatified in 1690 and canonised by Pope John Paul II in 1999. Known throughout the world as the patron saint of Poland and Lithuania, she is particularly revered as the patron saint of salt miners and the poor.

On the way to the assembly hall, I immerse myself in the buzz of students, the nostalgic cacophony of squeaking shoes in the corridor, the chatter of recess and the laughter of teenagers. I wonder what St. Kinga would say to being known and loved by so many young people 800 years after her birth. And to what do we owe the enthusiasm with which a Catholic school in Veszprém cultivates the cult of our Polish-Hungarian saint?

"After 2005, I met the legends of Saint Kinga of the Árpád dynasty for the first time. Renáta's daughter was in my class, so when we chose a patron saint for the class, I suggested the Polish-Hungarian Kinga and the children accepted. After that, I began to get to know more and more about the holy life of St. Kinga, and I began to think that she was a truly great person who sacrificed everything for Polish-Hungarian relations, and her acting and serving love impressed me more and more as time went by." – says Katalin Kámánné Szőke, a teacher at the Padányi school, an active participant in the Polish-Hungarian twinning project and vice-president of the St. Kinga Association in Hungary.

The auditorium goes silent as the Polish ambassador enters, accompanied by Renata.

"Sebastian vagyok, és picit beszélek magyarul” ("I'm Sebastian, and I speak a little Hungarian,") – the diplomat begins his speech in Hungarian, with an accent, but nevertheless endearing.

In his greeting, the Ambassador underlines that St. Kinga has won the hearts of the Polish people not only through her donations and her efforts to boost the country's economy, but also through her work for the underprivileged. 

"I wish that through her example you would find the meaning of life and friendship between the two nations," said Sebastian Kęciek, delivering one of the most important messages of the day to his audience. 

The importance of involving young people in maintaining friendship

Katalin takes over shortly afterwards and introduces her presentation with a short Polish cartoon, and then shows the puppets that the seventh graders made to act out the legends associated with the saint. It is said that it was the prayer of Saint Kinga that saved Poland from the Tatar invasion. Legend has it that, fleeing from the Tartars, she threw a ribbon from her hair in the way of her pursuers, which became the Dunajec River. But the Tatars managed to cross the water, however, with great difficulty, so she threw her comb behind her, too, from which a forest grew so thick that the invaders could go no further. 

"We even made a brochure about St Kinga, illustrated by one of our teachers. The legend of St. Kinga is so alive that we can come across miracles that are attributed to her all the time," says Katalin, whose touching enthusiasm is clearly transmitted to the diplomats and the children.

So much so, that after her presentation, the students enthusiastically start asking questions from the ambassador, looking for links between the two nations. "For many people, such as the teachers present here and all those involved in some way in Polish-Hungarian cooperation, it is natural to talk about the friendship between the two nations. But when it comes to the new generations, it's a much more difficult question, because it's not sure that they show the same interest as the generations before them." 

"This is why it is important to talk in every forum possible about this friendship, our common heritage, our common saints, our historical figures, and the events that have linked us for a long time," the Polish ambassador said in response to a question. 

A senior asks how much Polish youngsters know about the story of St. Kinga and her Hungarian roots, to which the answer is that outside of Stary Sącz, if you stopped a Polish kid on the street, probably they wouldn't know who she was. However, the same could be said of Hungarians: few of us would know how St. Kinga lived and what she did. But this is not a problem, but rather a challenge, something that it is worth investing energy in. 
 

But how is it possible to raise high school students' interest in a pious saint in a world of influencers, celebrities, and TikTok? Katalin tells us that the secret lies in creating and nurturing living relationships. Travelling, doing things together and getting to know young Polish people is what this age group is really interested in. 

"We have two twin schools, both run by the Presentation Sisters, and we try to reach out to both institutions regularly with the help of various grants. Last year, we won a V4 tender (Petőfi 200), which helped us to send a class, some alumni and folk dancers, as well as the school's rock band. As a result of the friendships formed then, four students have just travelled to Krakow for a friendly meeting at the invitation of Polish students. And this year, we applied to the Wacław Felczak Foundation for a "St. Kinga 800" grant.  The grant enabled us to host the choir of the Krakow school at the end of October, with whom we went to Küngös and organized activities related to St. Kinga", shared Katalin Kámánné Szőke, who was in charge of writing the applications, organizing and implementing the projects.

Solidarity that connects us

At lunch – where Mónika Sótonyi, Deputy Mayor of Veszprém, will join us – we can talk more informally about our culture and customs. I am curious to know what motivates a young diplomat from Warsaw to move to Hungary. 

It turns out that it was not just a "wind in the sails" career move, but a conscious decision for him as a university student to focus on this region, and Hungary in particular, in the future.

From their conversation, it is clear that he has a deep sympathy for Hungarians, he is eager to learn the language, and they regularly do his daughter's Hungarian homework together. And as ambassador, he feels his task is to build channels of communication and seek points of cooperation between the two nations. "Solidarity" is one of the key concepts that connects us, he says. 

And now we're off to Küngös! This charming village is just three streets behind Lake Balaton, home to around five hundred people who are true local patriots, very proud of their home and famous for their hospitality. The Roman Catholic Church of St. Kinga of the House of Árpád was consecrated in 2013 by Dr. Gyula Márfi, Archbishop of Veszprém.  The church was built mainly from public donations by parish priest Zsolt Beke. The winged altarpiece is the work of the painter István Felhősi. The main central picture shows St. Kinga in the habit of a Clarissan nun, wearing a crown on her head and holding the church of Küngös in her hands. On the wings of the altarpiece, the artist has depicted the main events in the life of St Kinga. The church, built in 2013, is the only church in Hungary named after St. Kinga (the nearest one is in Transcarpathia), making it a unique site of religious and historical heritage in Hungary.

The church also has a reliquary, where a small bone of St. Kinga was placed, as well as a painting of her, which was donated to Küngös by the artist- graphic designer Gyöngyi Proksza. 

Several objects and a painting were donated by the partner association in Poland, and the President of the St. Kinga Association in Stary Sącz, Mieczyslaw Witowski, and his wife Ewa Witowski were invited to the closing program. 

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Photo: László Katona

"We could call her the queen of human hearts, whose main characteristics were not only that she was a ruler but also that she was a ruler who served. I wish you many blessings, long live Saint Kinga, long live Polish-Hungarian friendship!" – the Ambassador conveyed his good wishes to the people of Küngös.

The Polish-Hungarian friendship is a unique example of how two nations from different cultural backgrounds can support, respect and love each other for thousands of years. Our friendship has always been based on deep-rooted common values in which freedom, solidarity, loyalty, fighting spirit, faith, family, and mutual respect play a prominent role.

But it is not a relationship full of nostalgia that we only get together to remember, it is full of plans and promises. The aim now is to promote positive aspirations between the two countries and to fight divisions. Kinga is not "just" a saint with an interesting life, but also an important symbol of Polish-Hungarian friendship, who is thus actively working to strengthen the bond between us, not only in her past but also in her present and future.
 

After a 'chess disaster', Edith is always at the forefront of caring for the children and adults who have been defeated. "I have a white cube in my right hand. I don't cry when I lose."

Artists of improvisation

She was born Edit Láng in Kecskemét. At the age of 8 she played at the Sports Club for Union of Agricultural, Forestry, Food, Water and Catering Workers (MEDOSZ) in Gyula. In 1952 she continued her career in Budapest, in the Railway Construction Workers' Association (‘Vasútépítő Törekvés’), and also played in the MTK and the Sports Club of the Passenger Supply Company (Utasellátó Vállalat Sportkör). She knows two types of players: the attacking and the positional. "I believe in the former strategy," she sums up. 

She says she regards two real geniuses in chess: the "Magician from Riga", Mikhail Tal, and Garri Kasparov, the Azeri master of total chess. 

Edith told me about it in style at the headquarters of the Hungarian Chess Federation in Falk Miksa Street, where she received my (meddlesome) interjection, my stammering: "Was Bobby Fischer not a genius?"

"Did I forget about him?" – she remarks cheerfully, with an air of self-irony. Arthur Koestler, the Hungarian-born author of the novel Darkness at Noon, called the chess genius "mimephant", after the qualities of the mimosa and the elephant, which he used to describe his playing and his off-the-table behaviour. Edith first met Fischer in Stockholm in 1962. "It was a Zonal final," she says of the match – which he won.

"For years, one of his games has been analysed, where he sacrificed a pawn. The world's grand masters could not fathom why he did what he did. The secret was that he was so confident in his abilities that he didn't study openings, didn't study games, because he dared to improvise. Tal played with a similar mindset, but he was alert to the other players, to certain plays. I was once surprised when, at a tournament in Szabadka, he beckoned me to come and have a word with him. I stepped up to him and he began to analyze a game I had played two years earlier. "Edithke, if you had moved the other knight to E5 against the champion of Leningrad, you would have won!" – he said, and I was stunned, because on the one hand, I didn't even remember the game, and on the other hand it didn't even occur to me that the eight-time Olympic chess champion was interested in my game." 

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Photo: Zoltán Attila Szabó

What's in a purple canvas bag?

"Didn't you know any female chess geniuses?", I continue. She mentions Edith Nana Alexandria: "She also played in an attacking style, but she didn't win a world championship. She quickly withdrew from competitive chess. Why? Because women in this sport are rarely persistent," she says. We then discuss the differences between the perceptions of men and women chess players. – Men are much more likely to consult books and research the right strategy, for example when it comes to openings. 

Most of us women try to realize our own ideas on the board. 

In this sense, Bobby Fischer's virtuoso playing was more akin to a woman's perception, a more intuitive approach."

Then, out of nowhere, a purple canvas bag appears. Sitting at the simultaneous exhibition of the Chess Federation, in the "company" of chess pieces in the opening position, treasures and relics from the past emerge from the canvas bag. And now we travel back and forth in time...

Treasured objects, photographs, and chess diaries, carefully kept over many decades, make up Edith's collection. And memorabilia opens the way to memories. "Although I was born in Kecskemét, my childhood is mainly connected to Szabadka and Gyula," she begins, and then the memories of peaceful years are followed by World War II experiences. – When Szabadka was carpet-bombed, we hid in some ditch or hollow. To avoid being seen by the pilots of the planes, the adults warned me to hide my bright yellow teddy bear. After we were rescued, my mother and father decided I would be better off in Gyula, in foster care. They held out as long as they could in Vojvodina. They only came to Hungary on the last train. 

In Gyula, I went to primary school next to the Hundred Years Old Confectionery. I also spent a lot of time at the Erkel Tree in Gyula. At that time I had hardly thought about the fact that the composer of Bánk bán was an excellent chess player and that he was the first president of the Chess Club in Pest. Later, when my sporting colleague István Csom analyzed his game, I was proud of my years in Gyula...

I went to primary school there. I learnt to play chess, and we often sat at the table with the later famous mathematician Dr. Béla Csákány. One day I was told that Dr. Árpád Vajda, an international master, was playing a simultaneous exhibition in nearby Békéscsaba. I was fourteen years old, and I applied. He couldn't beat me in a rook game for 4 hours! Later, Vajda asked László Alföldi, the renowned coach and author of 33 Chess Lessons, to come to Gyula for me, talk to my parents, and take me to the Makszim Gorky Hungarian-Russian School in Pest to teach me, because I could be the future champion. I owe them a lot.

I found myself in an empathetic, inspiring environment. I learnt Russian, which opened the door for me to the top-level sport. 

I got to know the players of the era. They trusted me because I not only played but also organized tournaments, and in time they could count on me in catering and tourism. 

When needed, I interpreted. When needed, I mediated between the organisers and the competitors. Or, if that was the case, I arranged accommodation. In time, I also learned Serbian. When in Split, at The Marian Hotel, water was spilling from the room of Éva Karakas (eight-time Hungarian champion, international women's chess grandmaster - editor) into the hotel corridor, I intervened and informed the hotel manager myself. We managed to avoid a bigger problem," she says.  

Edith's diaries kept almost all the relevant data, results and tables. She has a total of 152 race summaries to look back on. She wrote a detailed summary about the events of the sixties, the details of the Liberation Memorial Tournament (Subotica, 1976), the Hungarian-Romanian national team group competition in Gyula (with Ivánka, Verőci, Honfi), the 1981 O.B.T. women's team championship.

The Grand Dame of chess in Hungary (who for a few years was hesitating whether to become a table tennis player or a chess player), she is also, as they say, a walking encyclopedia of the sport. As founder and organizer, she has launched popular chess clubs in venues such as the Belvárosi Kávéház, the Merlin Theatre, and Spinoza. In the Valley of Arts, at the Kapolcska Small Festival, at the Bőköz Ormánság Festival, she has almost single-handedly run summer chess sessions and children's camps for decades.

A collection of treasured memories (only a fraction of which, of course, can be crammed into a purple canvas bag), draws a series of true tales, stories, events, tragedies and comic moments from Edith's truly exceptional memory. She tells us lengthy tales of the Polgár Girls, for example, of Zsófi's concept of the game, Judit's combined style, Zsuzsi's becoming a world champion and then putting her knowledge to good use in university life in the United States. 

She makes no secret of her oppinion that she has never been a fan of the methods of the Polgár dad, who raised his girls strictly and almost forced chess on them.

Survived smallpox

She talks with joy about the atmosphere of the Chess Olympiad and of course about the 1972 tournament, where the team of Mária Ivánka-Verőci Zsuzsa-Krizsán Gyuláné won the bronze medal. Then we go back to her first marriage to István Bilek, the three-time Hungarian chess champion. 

"The relationship with Pisti lasted eleven years, but we stayed on good terms after that. Sometimes I look at the celebrity news today and I'm amazed at how nasty, loud fights these people are capable of. I have no sympathy for them. We have never, not for one minute, argued with each other – even after our divorce! I try to concentrate on the good memories," she adds, then pulls out a tiny set of chess pieces her coach husband used to travel the world with. 

She remembers her daughter's father, Dr Gyula Krizsán – whose wife she was for ten years from 1969, and who also became a sports enthusiast –  with similarly kind words. According to Edith, one should be able to forgive, to accept, and not to be afraid of the difficulties and pains life brings. When disaster strikes, there is nothing to do but use all the strength you have to get up from the floor.

She has done that several times. Like when she survived smallpox! Yes, the dreaded disease that we know has disappeared from the face of the earth (thanks to the WHO vaccination campaign). Well, that's true, but in the 1960s and 1970s there were still large numbers of cases recorded, and in Yugoslavia, there was an epidemic. Just when Edith and her team won a bronze medal in the chess Olympiad. 

However, she did not contract the disease at that time: she fell ill in Kiev during another competition. It was a vitamin injection, thought to be harmless but actually contaminated, that nearly caused her death.

"I ended up in Pesthidegkút, where I was quarantined in a hospital building that has since been closed down, waiting to be cured," she says. – The doctor, who loved chess, didn't encourage me much. He said there was no proper medicine in Hungary. But a Soviet competitor's brother, who lived in Germany, found a way for me to get some of the experimental medicine that could save my life. The medicine was sent by plane to Ferihegy. Imagine how grateful I still am today to those who did not abandon me in my time of need!" –  the chess master continues, praising her fellow players.