Nachas Week continues here at Yenta Headquarters as two new CDs are featured in one post — let’s call these short reviews “nachitas,” my very own made-up Ladino-flavored expression meaning “a spicy little snack.” Because “nachas” always reminds me of “nachos,” so when you add a “nosh” with a bit of flair, it linguistically adds up to “nachitas,” see? Mmm, can you smell the zest?

First on the plate is The Whole World Lit Up, the third album in three years from the bluesy-Jewsy, alt-rock quartet Blue Fringe. I’ve only heard the title singles from the previous two, My Awakening and 70 Faces, which couch spiritual lyrics in guitar and bass licks so rockin’ they belong on XM Ethel, so I can’t compare them to this latest effort. But I really don’t need to: The Whole World Lit Up kicks tuchus all on its own.

Musically speaking, these 20-something Yeshiva boys take that staid combo of modern rock, the guitar/bass/keyboard/perky persussion with vocal harmonies, and swirl it up with deep Jewish soul — like if Jacob Dylan had had bar mitzvah, maybe he’d be opening for them. (Actually, you can hear the Wallflowers and little of Counting Crows’ Adam Duritz in lead singer Dov Rosenblatt’s voice — no surprise that he cites them as influences.) Though the lyrics are undeniably Jewish, this is a band who fits right in with Coldplay and other pillars of mainstream mellow rock.

Most tracks combine English with Hebrew, flavoring certain traditional tunes like Rabbi Shlomo Carlbach’s “V’Shamru” and the “Birkat Kohanim” with what seems to be their signature hypnotic chord-layering. “Eshet Chayil” and “Listen to You” will provoke major head-bobbing, and the Beatles-inflected “Do You Realize?” may have you repeating its catchy wisdom like a mantra: do you realize that life goes fast/it’s hard to make the good things last/do you realize the sun don’t go down/it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning ’round. The overall effect of The Whole World Lit Up” is a rich, Talmudic-influenced pop soundscape that will have even the most secular among us grooving hard.

Mare Winningham is another addition to the growing group of artists who simply cannot be contained by the Jewish music genre. An Oscar-nominated actress (remember prissy Wendy from St. Elmo’s Fire?) and a convert to Judaism, Mare has declared herself the second Jewish country singer — after Kinky Friedman, of course.

But Kinky’s tunes are mostly twangy jingles that are more satire than substance, and Mare has waded into the much deeper waters of roots rock and American folk. Her first album, Refuge Rock Sublime, marries the minor chords of Eastern Europe with the fiddle-playing and banjo-picking of Appalacia, a combination that immediately engages anyone who digs sweet, down home music. The Jewish-country connection peaks right away in “Valley of the Dry Bones,” echoing mandolin giant David Grisman’s “Shalom Aleichem” in its quiet reverence.

Like so many converts who burn with a fever so much more intense than many born Jews, Mare’s passion for the faith comes through in her lyrics and her crystal clear tones. She’s taken the best parts of gospel music and made it definitively Jewish; one only need listen to “The World to Come” and “Al Kol Ele” to hear the words of the rabbis.

Maybe it’s the first forty years of Winningham’s life that give this album the kind of flavor you might find in a Southern Baptist church on a Sunday morning, but surely that’s the point: This is her own Jewish experience laid out, gospel influences and all. Even her tongue-in-cheek explanation of her late-in-life Jewishness, “A Convert Jig” (I will be a Jew like all of you/and never eat a pig), sounds hymnal. She’s taken a risk here, and pulls it off with a beautiful dignity. Though it may take time for Jewish listeners to “get” her, Mare Winningham will surely find her way to the top of the genre and beyond. And I’m not just saying that because I have an affection for Jewish cowgirlhood.

I know I’m a lucky lady to have El Yenta Man, and my kids are blessed to have such an involved, adventurous father. But sometimes I peek over on the fence to see the single mothers hanging out, enjoying vegetarian potlucks and estrogen-dominant discussions, unencumbered by in-laws and another person’s issues or dirty laundry and I secretly envy them. I can’t help it, some single moms just make it look good.

Rachel Sarah is a perfect example of that kind of single mother — she’s gorgeous, stylish, has a cabal of supportive and loving single mama friends and is raising a sassy, smart daughter named Mae on her own. I met her when I worked at the j. weekly in San Francisco where she continues to be the resident dating columnist, and I figured her book, Single Mom Seeking: Playdates, Blind Dates and Other Dispatches From the Dating World, would be edgy, playful and well-written. But how engrossed I found myself in Rachel’s saga came as a surprise anyway.

It wasn’t too long ago when people whispered “single mother” in tones reserved for terminal diseases, as if it were an affliction, or God forbid, contagious. Rachel shrugs off that stigma with barely a glance, but letting go of her idea of the perfect family isn’t so easy. Even after Eric, the emotionally unstable father of her daughter, abandons them, she continues to fantasize that every man who comes through the door might fit the corner of the “triangle.” She goes on her very first date while she’s still nursing and falls immediately into bed with the guy, conjuring up a post-coital picture of the three of them — her, him and Mae — by the second date, an image that dissolves as the dude slips out the door at 3am without saying good-bye.

A string of men follow, each chronicled in a ribald and raunchy manner that invites giggles and the occasional cringe, like when she brings someone home while her daughter sleeps in the next room, the married guy who shoots too quick and of course, the sporadic appearances of Mae’s father. It’s pretty sexy stuff; some scenes are bonified erotica. Rachel makes no apologies about her libido and right to satisfaction, yet never comes across as slutty or jaded. She’s optimistic — borderline naive, sometimes — about every new prospect; her heart seems so big and most of the guys so undeserving. With each one she learns a little more about what she’s not looking for: Pot smoking, tardiness and over-tidiness are reasons kick a guy to the curb and yell “Next!”

So this is what dating is all about: looking for red flags, obeying red flags, running like hell when I see one, asking questions, talking about myself without revealing too much. It makes me feel alternately exhilarated and exhausted.

Reading Rachel’s transition from “Hey, you’re cute! Let’s do it!” to “Hmm, are you interested in children?” is almost like watching a baby learn to walk — you know she’ll get it right eventually, but you wince every time she falls. Through the process of maturing into the responsibilites that come with being a dating parent, she remains a committed mother to Mae. But she refuses to fall into the trap of martyr — she deserves to date, to sleep with whomever she likes. As long as she uses protection.

It isn’t until she and Mae move back to the Bay Area and she has a full-time babysitter in her own dad that the major league dating begins; she has a tight turquoise number she calls her “first date skirt,” and as the years go on, it sees plenty of action. When online dating becomes popular, she jumps right in, organizing her dates in a binder, making another full-time job out of poring over their profiles. She enrolls Mae in preschool at the local JCC and sees that the Jewish daddies are the best around. She decides to post her own profile on Jdate, bringing a whole other dimension of mishegoss, since her father is Jewish and her mother is not, which leads some Jewish men to reject her as not Jewish. Reform Judaism is basically a fraud, one writes. Why don’t you just unergo an Orthodox conversion? Fortunately, plenty of good J-men think she’s a fine catch, and she handles this new batch of potential mates with humor and hard-earned experience.

It’s so relieving when she begins make better decisions for herself; I wanted to tap her friends on the shoulder and say “What the heck were you thinking, watching her kid so she could go out with that schmuck?” Much of the humor and wisdom of Single Mom Seeking comes from these single mama friends, who are as good as — maybe even better than — family to Rachel and Mae. Her friend Siobhan imparts a nugget that she refers back to every time she’s tempted to find love in the arms of someone’s who’s not right: Never go back for more when there is only less.

The crux of the book is Rachel’s growth as a mother and a woman, though her role as a lab rat in the world of single parent dating provides plenty of advice and fodder for commiseration. In the end, Rachel finds love with a motorhead Israeli with an infectious laugh, and though she had been so raw with her other loves, she closes the bedroom door on this one, “it is private.” But as a married woman, I know there’s no such thing as “happily ever after,” so I look forward Rachel’s next book about — what else? — blended families.

You can buy Single Mom Seeking here or better yet, from your favorite independent bookstore. What better Mother’s Day gift for those strong mamas out there going it solo? A must read for single dads, too!

It’s taken me longer today to write this review than I planned, because as I was sitting down at the ‘puter with a mug of tea and my daughter involved in a conversation with Elmo on PBS, I decided to listen to Beth Schafer‘s fifth album, The Quest and the Question, one last time, just to be thorough.

This lady came to our attention last summer (the honorable Pepe Pringos posted this) when she beat out Christian crooners galore to won the faith-based category of American Idol Underground. She’d submitted two songs, “Still Small Voice” and “Love Multiplies,” to the online extension of the ubiquitous FOX series and watched as voters pushed them into the Top 10. By the end of the six-month long contest, those tunes came in at #1 and #2, respectively.

Now, it could be that Schafer’s fans, which surely include every single congregant of Temple Shier Shalom near Orlando, FL. where she does cantor duty, double-clicked like mad to get her to the top. But how much voting power can one lil’ Reform congregation have against the might of America’s contemporary Christian enthusiasts? Only a solid interfaith fan base would have been enough to sweep the top two song slots. Could it be that this Jewish woman and her electric guitar have crashed on through the ceiling of modern spiritual music?

Schafer sings in both English and Hebrew backed by folksy, uplifting chords, inviting comparison to that Mistress of reformed Reform liturgy, Debbie Friedman. This accomplished musician is not only her own lead guitarist, but is credited in the liner notes with playing the mandolin, piano and something called a variax. According to her site, she “is creating modern-day musical midrash, the contemporary interpretations of ancient texts that help us make sense of humanity,” yet her lyrics remain accessible to those who don’t know Rashi from Raffi.

In addition to being a cantor, songwriter and performer, Schafer is also a wife and mother, so she may appreciate the following: I mentioned I had set up for a perfect morning of blogging and was grooving to “Slow Me Down,” the first song on the album and an homage to the sweet anticipation of Shabbat, when everything fell apart. The phone kept ringing, my daughter decided smearing PB&J on my keyboard was more entertaining than Elmo, and I saw the time I had carved out for myself dissolving like sugar in tea. Frusturation and anger boiled up and I started feeling pretty sorry for myself, ’cause no one really tells you how hard it is to be a mother AND anything else except tired, dirty and put upon. And then I got to thinking about how hard it’s been for me to adjust here in the South and how challenging it is sometimes to deal with my mother-in-law, who has something like Alzheimer’s only worse, and how much I wish I could just go back to California, and wow, if I didn’t have just a giant pity party for myself — tears, cursing, the whole bit.

But then I was listening to “Ruth,” a track about our adopted biblical foremother who also had to deal with her mother-in-law after her husband died, and I thought, “Well, God, at least I’ve still got my husband, pain-in-the-tuchus that he is. Thank you for that.” And then “Still Small Voice” came on and I got why the people voted it #1: It’s a song that makes you stop and remember that the One who created us is still here loving us, even when we’re pounding our fists on the ground (or swearing up a storm while cleaning out peanut butter between the “b” and “n” keys with a Q-tip.)

As the rest of the album cruised on, a sense of magnanimous relief came through me. These are songs about struggling with faith and finding strength when you’d thought you’d used up the last reserves. “Love Multiplies,” “Adonai Natan” (God gives, God takes away…) and “It’s In You” all prove that Schafer isn’t some bima ice queen throwing out rabbinical wisdom; this is a woman who has a deep compassion for what it means to be human and its accompanying challenges. In “We Pretend” she sings of life’s inherent imperfections, her own issues with conforming in “If You Want Me To Be” and she finishes off the album with “Tricky Thing,” a bone-bare glimpse into the paradox of faith. By then, my kid and I were dancing on the sofa, swinging our arms and cackling with the simple joy of being alive.

So what was intended to be just a regular music review ended up as a rejuvenating experience, as fine a testimony as I could possibly give. I’m not saying my day got any easier (I still had to help my mother-in-law clean out her closet and then write this amidst the howls of homework time and dinner preparations) but “The Quest and The Question” reminded me to keep on breathing, keep on dancing, keep on praying. Listen for yourself.