The Sisters of Saint Benedict

by Lou Jasikoff

They say you reap what you sow, and I do believe that that's true. Growing up in the small town of Elwood on Long Island in the 1950s, I attended kindergarten and first grade in a little red schoolhouse. Really, I did! Just like you see in the movies. Adjacent to the school were woods, and the Sisters of Saint Benedict lived through those trees and up the hill—a Religious order of nuns from Poland that ran a nursing home for the elderly. From a distance and through the dark forest, it looked very run-down. To kids, it was downright spooky. The rumor amongst us kids was not to go into the forest because witches lived in those woods in that old run-down house. I don't remember any of us ever wandering too far into the woods. 

During those times, the nuns were very poor and very much ignored by everyone. The Roman Catholic Church was of no help seeing the nuns as just that, a group of old nuns. The nuns received no state or federal support at the time either. It was no surprise to anyone in my family that my father found his way through those spooky woods and up the hill to help them out. But that was the kind of man my father was, and I know he respected their work ethic. So he helped whenever called upon to do so. As the years progressed, my father continued to help, but now I was older, and the excuse of the spooky woods no longer worked. So, I was expected to help, but not only me, mind you, my brother and sisters, and when we could entice them, our friends. ​​

​It is like yesterday when I remember a call from my father, "Son, the Nuns need some help." They needed some sod laid, and it would be long, hot, hard work. "Geez, Dad, I really am busy," I replied. "Yeah, I know. Bring as many of your friends as you can, too. It's a big job." Sure enough, that Saturday, my friends and I were laying sod all day. But we did well and were presented with one of the best lunches I ever remember. 

Around that time, a new pope was elected, the Polish Pope John Paul; as it turned out, the sisters and John Paul went way back, and their order began to expand worldwide. Those who lived in the now-growing nursing homes would bequeath land to the nuns. Soon, my mom and dad were asked to go to Florida to check on land left to the order. Or drive one or two of the sisters to Detroit to check out property they inherited in that neck of the woods. Soon a lasting friendship between my parents and the nuns grew. The founding Nuns of the rest home have made it known to everyone that anyone in the Jasikoff family is always welcome to stay if ever needed. This is despite a long waiting list and the fact that some of us are male, and males are not usually accepted. 

This leads me to two of my funniest stories and interactions with the Polish Nuns. One October evening, many years later, three of the Sisters came to visit while I was at my parents in Saratoga, New York. Two of the nuns I could still remember from Long Island. We were eating at the dining room table with a younger Nun who had just arrived from Poland. We began talking about Father Markowitz, who was the spiritual adviser to the nuns for many years back in the day. He later became bishop for the diocese of Kalamazoo in Michigan and spent the final months of his life with the sisters in Elwood, New York. I wound up asking the two older Nuns why they do not typically allow men to stay in the facility.

I will never forget her response. She said, "Oh, we used to, Lou, but it causes so many problems." I must have looked puzzled because she added, "Having only one or two men in the facility filled with so many women seems to cause constant catfights and arguments." I then said, "Even though most are in their 80s and 90s, and all are Nuns?" "Yes, I am afraid so. That is why we seldom accept men. Men are too disruptive to the order of things." Some things will never change, I guess, and that is a good thing. 

My second story also occurs at my parents' Saratoga, New York home. Part of the Nun's vows is performing hard labor for a few hours daily. While visiting my folks in Saratoga, they wanted to stay true to their word. They refused to deviate from what they had pledged and offered their yard services to my parents. I am sure you could imagine the smiles and remarks the neighbors made as they cruised past the Jasikoff home and saw three nuns in full habit, mowing the lawn and weeding the garden. We have gotten more than a few laughs over that story, for sure.

The sisters of Saint Benedict always remembered those who helped them along the way, whether it was Father Markowitz or my parents. With their fellowship, easygoing attitudes, and grateful spirit, they really did give back so much more than the little bit of help they were offered, so what is the moral of the story? 

My father died some years ago from a stroke and remained in a coma for a few days before eventually passing in Albany, New York. Every day my father lay ill, a different group of nuns traveled four hours one way from their small town of Elwood on Long Island to visit him. They would recite the rosary in Polish at his bedside before turning around and driving four hours home for the evening. 

Yes, we truly reap what we sow. We are all here for a speck of time. So make a difference in the lives of those around you. You never know who you'll meet or where or the memories and friendships that will come from it all.