Holy Saturday

For Italians, and by extension Italian Americans, the vigil of both Easter and Christmas was celebrated with as much zeal and more preparation than the day itself. In my family, it was no exception. Holy Saturday evening was a major holiday in my family. We would all get together at my Aunt Fran and Uncle Louie's house (everyone should have an Uncle Louie). There would be certain special foods we ate only that night.

I have always wondered the reason for this. Partly, I believe it was the idea of watchful waiting. Partly it was probably to due with the liturgical calender and the fact that in ancient Jewish practice, the day began at sundown. Partly maybe it was a very practical result of Italy's economy of the time. Southern Italy was very rural and it was difficult to work on the farm during the midday. So people tended to work early in the morning and later in the afternoon. So the evening probably seemed the best time to celebrate -- with the sun down, you could gather with your family and not worry about

Today, we tried to replicate the old ways with some friends. In old practice, the Lenten fast was far more stringent. Not only did Catholics abstain from meat on Friday's, they would abstain from meat, eggs and milk products during the season. So to celebrate Easter, the foods are heavily with those three items. In my family, this meant we eat meat pies filled with sausage, prosciutto, other meat, ricotta, mozzarella, and egg. We also eat a "spaghetti pie" which is pasta, eggs and cheese. Spinach pie ties to add something healthy to the meal, but that too adds more cheese and egg to the meal.

So yes, you should not eat this everyday -- your artieries will hate you if you do.

The bells of Catholic churches are silent from the Gloria on Holy Thursday until the Gloria on Holy Saturday. In the old days, I am told, people would wait to hear the church bells ring before beginning the meal, as the bells of Holy Saturday marked the end of Lent.

Thoughts on Saint Joseph’s Day

As a child, I always loved Saint Joseph's Day. Coming so soon after Saint Patrick's, the Italian families in my town tried to make a big deal about it. The best part was the zeppola:

My mother used to travel back to Brooklyn to get the best ones from DaLuca's on North 6th and Havemeyer Street in Williamsburg. Later, we would also get great ones from Francesca's Bakery in Hicksville.

As I have become a father, this day has meant more to me. I can imagine Saint Joseph with the baby Jesus, watching with pride as Jesus grew up. But also with a little sadness, for paradoxically, I find the happiness I feel watching my two boys grow and learn is also tinged by some melancholy.

I buried my father on Saint Joseph's Day. Saint Joseph is the patron of fathers and of workers, and my father excelled at both. So I find that both fitting and comforting.