Deputy editor Rachel Bachrach pulls the strings from her home in Cincinnati, Ohio, using her Masters in Journalism

She seems to be everywhere at once, assigning and crafting and fielding submissions, directing writers, and formulating incredible content for Mishpacha’s every issue. Deputy editor Rachel Bachrach pulls the strings from her home in Cincinnati, Ohio, using her Masters in Journalism and discerning professional judgment to marshal a diverse and international writing team in creating global Jewish conversation.

My ideal work environment:

My breakfast room table, because to my left is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, so I basically feel like I’m outside. With the door open for the breeze and a tea or seltzer on hand, I’m set.

I learned the most from writing about:
Food presentation. The chef who maintained you can’t individually plate pasta nicely, that white dishes are always best for food presentation, that blue isn’t a natural food color. I remember something from this article basically every time I make or serve food!

Deadlines make me:
Move. Knowing time is limited automatically gets me in the zone.

1.

What percentage of cold submissions make it into the magazine?

Ooh, good question. The answer is not so good, though, because it’s quite disheartening — a very small percentage? Some people submit pieces constantly, and it’s hard to keep rejecting their hard work, especially when their email starts, “Hi, it’s me again, you’ve never accepted anything I wrote, but I’m still trying my luck,” or, “18th time’s the charm, right?!”

Then again, just this summer, someone who sends us humor pieces once a month without success sent something moving, a totally different vibe from his usual — and wow, what a piece! We ran it in the following issue, which closed literally the next day. It was so poignant it made me cry every time I read it (initial submission, post-revision, post-edit, post his review of the edit, and then in print).

That being said, there are a nice amount of suggestions people send that make it to print. By suggestions, I mean when we get tips about stories: I know this person who does XYZ and he’d be a great profile, or, Did Mishpacha ever write about this place? We just went and loved it, or, This trend is happening in A and B and C. Those have higher success rates, because we assign the ones that intrigue us to our staff writers, who know what we’re looking for in our various formats.

2.

What was your personal biggest scoop?

I don’t think I’ve ever had a scoop at Mishpacha. It’s just not my role here — I’m actually very out of the loop. I don’t live in town, I’m not on social media, and I don’t have a smartphone, so I’m not on WhatsApp either. I don’t know any hock. That being said, if you have a scoop and you need an editor to take it to the finish line, I can help with that.

3

What goes into editing a piece?

Editing in my role means one of two things: macro editing, where you take a story idea and help bring it to fruition by managing all of the pieces involved in that assignment, or micro editing, which is more like line- or copy-editing — literally reading through text and dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s.

Most of my role involves macro editing, which is a lot of delegating. It starts with an idea for a story, and we figure out the angle, plot out the structure, and even come up with some sample interview questions, so we know what exactly we’re assigning. Next, we decide which assigning editor is the best fit for the story, as well as which writer is the best fit. It has to be someone who will appreciate the story (we always say if a writer is uninterested, the readers certainly will be), who is available and in the same location (or can be), and who isn’t a total misfit for the story (simply put: our best female writer cannot interview a chassidish Rebbe).

If I’m the assigning editor, I’ll then approach the writer and we’ll discuss what we’re aiming for in terms of format, length, and content. Is the writer on scene, observing the subject, partaking in the tour or workshop or gameshow, and writing up the experience, or putting together a Q&A? What kinds of questions should the writer be asking (which might involve us brainstorming questions together)?

Once the writer is on board, they’ll make contact with the subject and schedule their meeting, at which point we’ll bring in our production department to arrange for a photographer — who also needs a clear sense of direction in terms of what shots and angles we want to accompany the text.

Then I sit back and relax as I wait. Ha-ha, just kidding. This is when I start nudging. Checking in, how did the meeting go? And, Just checking in — when can we expect a first draft? And, Checking in on that first draft?

Finally, usually within a few days from the meeting, the first draft arrives, and I read. While reading, I’m making note — literally on the side of the document or in an email draft — of my thoughts along the way: Do I get a sense that the writer has a handle on the subject and is leading me, the totally ignorant reader, on this journey? Is the writer holding the mic and maintaining control of the narrative, or does the subject take over too much? Does the sequence work overall? Is the background info in the right place, the family or business history, the action, and so on? Does the text make sense? Is there anything missing, big (a glaring question, lack of reference to relevant current events) or small (the wife’s first name, the father’s title)? In a nutshell: Is there a clear narrative arc, and can I follow it, or do I need to direct the writer to move things around so it flows better?

Usually, I’ll send the first draft to someone else for their take, and then once we have all of our comments and questions, it goes back to the writer with directions about restructuring, filling in missing information, sometimes a whole new source to tap for another angle, and even more questions that have cropped up. Then it’s more waiting and of course nudging, until the second draft is in, and it’s time for the next round of editing — line-editing.

4

What does line-editing entail?

At this point, you focus more on the actual writing — the sentence structure and the details. We have a team of editors that does this, so when I submit something for editing, I try to send it with instructions (“Tighten to a two-pager,” “Chop the intro, it’s too wordy,” or “This part is too low down, let’s move it up,” “Add a little historical background for context to this part,” and so on). The editors have leeway when it comes to pieces they’re working on, and they’ll also make command decisions about what needs to be added, removed, or tweaked.

Sometimes, depending on the piece or column, it’s easier for me as the assigning editor to do it for something I’ve assigned. Aside from the obvious grammar and spelling, there are a few things I always keep in mind. The first is man-on-the-moon phenomenon. “Write for the man on the moon,” a professor I had in journalism school used to say. “The one who doesn’t know who is the president or what his first name is” — it’s never “Biden” or even “Joe Biden” on first reference; it’s “President Joe Biden,” and if more context is necessary, summarize that context too (“following his decision to run for re-election regardless of concerns about his age” or whatever).

Also, do the individual scenes work? Is the subject in place to do the action you say he is doing? (If you’re describing a music workshop, can the bongo drum guy belt out a song before he gets onstage and instructs the crowd?) If you’re sharing someone’s backstory, do I know when all of the things we mention — school attendance, marriage, opening the business, closing the business — are taking place? How much time has elapsed between the first paragraph and the fourth? Does the dialogue work — does the text sound the way people actually speak, or does it read too formal, stilted, jargon-y? When we use quotes, do they add to the storyline and show me something about the speaker (how he speaks, what she’s passionate about, a “tell” in her phrasing, a unique way of describing something)? Or do they just relay facts, in which case they can be tightened to a key part of that long quote, or trimmed and paraphrased?

And then there are the tiny (but somehow, most fun) details that are crucial to accuracy: All spellings need to be checked, cities need states attached to them, institutions need a full name and proper spelling on first reference. Any song name — or lyric — needs to be accurate, word for word. The number of things we look up for one short piece means our search histories can be bizarre!

While editing, we’re also always tightening. Many people write much wordier than necessary, so we trim, trim, trim so pieces move. A classmate in college used to say her former editor called her “the ‘that’ police.” She literally sat and removed the word ‘that’ from article after article. Try it, you’ll see that you don’t need “that” nearly as often as you think that you do! (Hint: I needed it only once in the previous sentence, but I used it three times.)

5

Who comes up with the themes for those collections of personal essays?

Sometimes someone on our team finds a pasuk, theme, or thread that fits an upcoming Yom Tov or season — think seforim for Shavuos, things we save for Pesach, guest-host relationships for Succos, memorable rebbi-talmid encounters for back to school, and so on.

Then I put out a call to our writers and contributors — this is actually pretty time-consuming, crafting a prompt that will accurately delineate what we’re seeking, something focused but not so narrow that no one has anything that fits the bill. If enough people have a story that fits, a collection is born.

Other times, the seed of a collection comes from actual content, not a raw idea. Someone sends in a personal essay and we say, “Wow, this is incredible — and I bet there are six other people with stories of this nature,” and in that case, we build the collection around the initial submission. Or Yosef Herz will say, “I met three people with businesses they run bein hasedorim in Lakewood.” Three more will make it a fun collection of mini profiles.

Yet other times we have a standard format (our annual Chanukah 1-8 collection) and those just happen over the course of the year — as people randomly submit personal essays, if we get something with a number that jumps out, we’ll hold it for Chanukah. The writers appreciate it in Kislev, but I don’t know how great it is to send something in Teves and be told, “We’ll run it in a year.”

Right now we have two pieces with a “15-minute” thread — meaning, the storyline is contingent on a 15-minute interval. Those are waiting on the back burner, and soon as we get a few more 15-minute stories in, you’ll see a 15-minute collection. (Aaaaand that’s your prompt. Go!).

6

How often does the entire editorial staff meet in person? Virtually?

Virtually, there’s a weekly grids meeting where we review the most recent magazine and discuss what we need to work on for the next few issues. We also have what we call an ideas meeting biweekly to discuss non-time-sensitive pitches that came in via Submissions and staff writers.

In person, it’s hard to say. The only Mishpacha people I see regularly are the Botnicks, who live down the block. We used to hold a full week of editorial and staff meetings once a year, alternating between Israel and New York. Then Covid hit, so those were on hold until we resumed in Lakewood, but with the war, they’re on hold again. These were great, because I met so many people I’ve only ever corresponded with via email! There are some writers overseas I email frequently — Rochel Weber, Rochel Samet, Rachael Lavon — but I’ve never met them in person. (Maybe it’s the name? Ariella Schiller! She’s not a Rachel as far as I know — and we work together a lot and I’ve met her only on Zoom.)

7

How many places and time zones do Mishpacha contributors represent?

The ones I work with primarily are Israel (usually seven hours ahead), England (five-hour time difference), and the East Coast. The great thing is that when I start working in the morning, I overlap with the Israel team a little bit, so I start by moving along a bunch of things that are ready for the next stage in the process. Then I have a nice chunk of relatively quiet time, because the Israeli team is heading home and making supper. Some of them log back on when I still have an hour or so left to my workday. Then I’m off until that night, when I may have work from their night hours — or not, and whatever I send is ready for their morning.

More interesting is how even in the same time zone, schedules can align so we basically have it that someone is always working on a piece. When Gitty Edelstein signed her life away to our recent in-depth feature about the tuition chokehold, we’d go back and forth — she spent late hours organizing and compiling and reviewing recordings and writing and following up with research and confirmation, and then I’d log on to move her draft to the next stage. The Israel-based editorial staff would share their comments, and then it would all go to Gitty for revising. There was one memorable night — well, really, morning — when Gitty worked straight from 12 a.m. to 5 a.m. When I got onto my computer that (actual) morning, I was able to plow through it all and send it onto Israel.

8

What’s something you learned from a Mishpacha colleague?

Shana Friedman taught me that with every round of revision requests, we have to respect the writer’s time and investment while also respecting our readers and our mandate to them — it’s a balancing act, and you have to keep both “sides” in mind. Yisroel Besser taught me to always say yes to anything that’s offered or assigned by any of the editors — and if it doesn’t pan out, so be it, but don’t be the off-the-bat naysayer.

9

Is there a column you miss?

Ten Questions and Day in the Life! Two different formats but essentially the same thing — a mini profile of someone interesting doing something interesting, either in the format of ten questions and answers or in the format of fill-in-the-blanks.

As a writer, I miss them because they were just plain fun — virtually meeting new people and learning the backstories to interesting and relevant initiatives, getting their stories and bloopers and tips for newbies and everything in between. I always loved how essentially the same set of questions could yield such varied answers, depending on who the subject was.

As an editor, I miss those columns, because they were a great format for doing what we refer to as a mini-profile: someone who is a perfect fit for that snapshot format, but the story isn’t quite a full, deep-dive feature. Since the columns ended, we’ve used other formats for that type of piece, but every once in a while, an idea comes along, and it’s like, He’d make a great Ten Questions. Maybe we’ll be able to revive it one day.

10

What is the number one reason someone pulls an article?

Because his wife doesn’t like it / is nervous about the kids’ shidduchim / thinks her husband looks fat in the pictures. (Husbands are usually very proud of stories by or about their wives.) (Actually, I don’t know that for a fact — I don’t know how often people pull something from Family First! Huh.)

Also because they realize that they don’t actually want to tell the story they wanted to tell. Barbara Bensoussan somehow had the luck of writing more than a few great pieces that never made it to print. The two that come to mind are one that didn’t run because the wife was reluctant, and another about a nascent initiative with so many of the elements we seek, but, as the initiators realized when they read her riveting draft, it divulges a lot of the behind-the-scenes information that they want, hmm, to keep behind the scenes. As wonderful as the story is, the subjects were concerned it would undermine the confidentiality that goes hand in hand with their success. As we were bemoaning this, I told Barbara it’s one of the best stories she’s ever written that will never see the light of day.

11

What is a recent change you’re most excited about?

That Rachael Lavon has taken over Calligraphy entirely. I used to help compile it, first with Yisroel Besser and then with Rachael, and while I love reading fiction, it’s very time-consuming. I did get some general previews, but I was excited to read the final product this Succos without seeing the complete stories in advance!

12

Of the pieces you’ve written, what was your favorite?

The one I’m writing now. Seriously, when you write — whether it’s a personal piece or something that requires research or interviewing — you invest your whole self into it, and it takes over your brain space, so of course it is your favorite (and least favorite, if it’s giving you agmas nefesh!). It’s like my husband’s grandfather said about his grandchildren — his favorite was always the one on his lap.

But in retrospect, I had so much fun 13 years ago doing the Tu B’Shevat piece about how frum dating looks to non-Jews in related industries, which of course entailed observing shidduch daters in their natural habitats. I did a lot more on-scene reporting before we moved out of New York, and this story had me trekking all over! I spent one night at the Brooklyn Marriott lounge, another at Abigael’s, and another at the Marriott Marquis, all in the name of good reporting.

13

Was there a piece you thought would never happen but it did?

For our #inaword supplement, which highlighted one-word terms as seen through the lens of photographers, influencers, and writers, I wrote a piece for “Sacrifice” about my grandmother’s heroism during the Holocaust and my grandfather’s sacrifices when she started deteriorating because of what she went through.

It was hard to write, because it highlighted their story in such detail: my father and his brother’s experiences with their parents, my relationship with my grandparents, how they still suffered from the Holocaust decades down the line, and everything in between. I was working hard to get it to the finish line knowing my family might not want it published; it almost got pulled at the very last minute. I was gratified that I got the green light in the end, because the feedback, especially from people who knew my grandparents, was overwhelming.

14

Who is the interviewee you came to admire the most?

It’s been a while since I’ve interviewed someone myself — the last feature I did was during Covid, and that was because it started as a Ten Questions, but he (Rabbi Ari Schonfeld, Night Seder America) had so much to say we had no choice but to make it a full feature.

But I’ll never forget the beautiful tidbit I read when editing Moshe Shindler’s column about Mint Media’s filming of the 2023 Adirei HaTorah event. He wrote about how one of his cameramen, not Jewish, shared that as he recorded the dancing — lugging around heavy equipment, making his way among thousands of men — he was sweating bullets, and a rav on the dais reached out to wipe his forehead with a napkin. The cameraman said it was the greatest act of kindness he’d ever experienced.

I was incredibly moved when I read about this spontaneous “trivial” act of chesed that spoke volumes, I actually go back to reread that paragraph sometimes. You can talk about kiddush Hashem and mi k’amcha Yisrael and all the beautiful clichés (which yes, are clichés because they’re true). But at the end of the day, someone saw someone in need and helped in the most basic way possible. It’s as simple — and as meaningful — as that.

15

Is there an interviewee you still speak to?

Randy Apt! That’s a Jewish geography coincidence. I did a very sad piece 12 years ago featuring people who supported their spouse through an end-of-life illness, and someone told me to speak to her about her husband Mutty Kiss a”h. What Mrs. Apt (she has since remarried) shared was so raw and poignant, not just because of her descriptions of Klal Yisrael’s incredible chesed and the sheer amount of support and love the Kisses got from family and friends, but also because of Mrs. Apt’s dignity and grace. She held nothing back in relaying the experience of the toughest moments in her life, but her rock-solid emunah was just as evident in our conversations.

When we moved to Cincinnati about a year later, imagine my surprise when one of the first people I met here was her daughter Yehudis! She has since become a close friend, and every time Mrs. Apt visits, it brings such warm feelings, coupled with such great admiration.

16

What is the best part of your job?

The flexibility. I work from home in the morning when my kids are out. By midday, my two youngest are home and I’m offline until night, if I need to do things for the next day. Because I’m home, I can do laundry or dishes while speaking to writers and editors and marketing staff, I don’t have to worry about child care when a kid is sick, and I don’t have to take off work when we drive in to visit family. I have the freedom to make appointments, do grocery runs, and take care of errands because I’m not tied to a desk.

17

And the worst?

The flexibility (you knew this was coming). Because while my personal setup is flexible, Mishpacha — the actual product you’re holding in your hands — is not. Our closing deadline is a hard stop, and the things we need to do to get material ready for that deadline need to be ready in time. Which means we need to progress through all the steps — assignment, guidance, interview setup, photoshoot scheduling, meeting and interview, writing, review of first draft, revision suggestions, writing second draft, review of second draft, editing, approving edit, proofing, layout, second proof (I probably didn’t even get them all!) — in a timely manner, so we don’t get held back at any point before closing.

For me, that means I need to make sure any story or column or project or any element I’m editing moves from Point A to B to C to X, no matter what. So when we ran a tribute following Rav Yechiel Perr’s petirah in the spring, I was up till 3 a.m. tightening and editing the sidebars, which were personal reflections by talmidim and people close to him. It was an honor to do so, but I definitely felt the pressure of the deadline as the clock ticked and I moved from one sidebar to the next (though flexibility meant that I had no qualms taking a nap that day).

18

What is the best time of year for you (workwise)?

The days preceding Erev Yom Tov. Once our mega Succos and Pesach packages are closed, the pressure is off and you’re riding on the euphoria of having produced something that will be consumed and enjoyed by so many people over Yom Tov. Yes, there is the post-Yom Tov issue, but that almost feels like a walk in the park (and hopefully, because we’re so well planned and prepared, the pieces for that issue are ready to go — okay, that’s wishful thinking). That means I can close my laptop and not open it until Isru Chag and immerse myself in Yom Tov prep — cooking and baking of course, airport runs for our guests, polishing the silver, and even some fun things like spray painting decorations or other projects we do in-house. It’s my favorite (two) times of the year.

19

Does your family get feedback?

There was someone in shul who would approach my husband during the kiddush every Shabbos with his take on Esty Heller’s “Money Talks” serial. Otherwise, friends will discuss something that ran in the magazine, not as feedback but as schmoozing among friends — so I guess the answer is no. (But if you tweak this to “Does your family give you feedback?” there was one family member who Shall Not Be Named who used to call to let me know about misplaced onlys and misspelled words.)

20

What are the side benefits of your job?

My Kichels sweatshirt (I’m not even kidding). My kids appreciate the insider info; when my nine-year-old was home sick and Sandy Eller emailed me her Waymo videos, he was on a high. Also, the SEED counselors who come in the summer think it’s cool. Most important, of course, is that it makes my mother so proud. Somehow, many of my mother’s casual conversations feature not only “My son, the doctor” but they also naturally segue to, “Do you read Mishpacha? Do you know…”

Questions for 20 Years

Coming up:

Libby Livshin, Administration

Send your questions to 20years@mishpacha.com

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1042)