How David Beat Goliath: And the Rogatsky Plan for LA's Last FREE English Jewish Paper

Click-shuffle-click-shuffle-click... The poker chips dance between David Rogatsky's fingers like those magnetic Chinese stress balls you can buy in any cities Chinatown…, seven ivory discs cascading in an endless, hypnotic rhythm that punctuates every conversation, every phone call, every moment of decision in the cramped three-room nerve center of what has become—quite accidentally, quite improbably—the last free English Jewish publication in Los Angeles.

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"I'm all up in there looking for the fix," he says, and the chips keep moving, never stopping, a kinetic manifestation of the restless energy that has transformed this baby-faced, beard-barely-sprouting, twenty-four-year-old Crown Heights kid into the unlikely savior of Jewish journalism. The lavender-scented candle flickers on his desk… the only aesthetic touch in an otherwise utilitarian workspace that looks, as he puts it, "like a spaceship to most people."

One year ago, when Yossi Wachtel (one of those prominent-businessman-who-knows-everyone types that populate every Jewish community like well-dressed GPS systems) first mentioned David's name to me, I never imagined I'd be sitting here watching the chips dance while this kid and his young wife (and make no mistake, he is a kid, despite the life experiences) explains how he accidentally backed into becoming the sole voice of 600,000 Jews scattered across the sprawling, sun-baked, status-obsessed megalopolis of Greater Los Angeles (with readers also as far as San Francisco and even Phoenix)

When David asked Wachtel for advice about how to run the paper, he told David to talk to Justin."Justin knows about these things better than I do."Actually, apparently, everyone he asked for advice told him to "talk to Justin." Everyone, of course, except Justin. Because had he come to me first, I would have told him to speak to someone else. Because while everyone knows I am a writer, and have 55k followers on LinkedIn and 3k people subscribed to my Substack, the one thing I have never done is manage a newsroom, or  dealt with the soul-crushing arithmetic of circulation versus advertising revenue. I do, however, understand the dark arts of the thing that makes publications profitable… advertising. And by that I don't just mean the ads that appear in the paper… but also what it takes to get people to want to read stuff.

Anyway.. that's how I found myself (a year ago) cramped in my little office with a bookshelf full of books and my signature obese statue of David with a cracked belly (because I'm an iconoclast) on a Zoom call with an impossibly young face wrapped up in ridiculously baggy Japanese cotton pants (comfort über alles), a white tee, and a (though being a born-and-bred New Yorker) "prized" LA Dodgers cap (because when in Rome)... answering impossibly naive questions about newspaper economics.

"How do I make this profitable?" he asked with the directness of someone who hadn't yet learned that such questions are supposed to be wrapped in layers of journalistic pretension.

"Advertising," I told him. Simple as breathing.

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"How do I get advertising?"

"Write stories people actually want to read."

Even through the screen, I could sense those chips moving, that restless energy processing my words. In the Orthodox Jewish publishing world, "stories people actually want to read" is radioactive terminology…code for the kind of community journalism that makes rabbis clutch their prayer books and board members reach for their checkbooks to start their own more Torah based publications.

I continued, warming to my role as mentor to a community provocateur, "It starts with controversy, then evolves into helpful information."

"Why controversy?" he asks. This time, a little more serious. Could this kid be real?

"Because people like to argue and debate."

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The look on his face! Pure bewilderment mixed with that peculiar intensity that I would later recognize as David's signature expression when processing new information he plans to put into action.

"Fine," he said. "If you ran the paper, what's the first thing you would do?"

"Well," I said. "The first thing I would do is get all those ads off the front cover and hire a graphic designer to create bold front cover images about whatever stories you are covering."

The old Jewish Home had been plastering advertisements across its front page like some kind of Judaica shopping circular. Orthodontist specials nestled next to Hebrew school announcements created the unmistakable aroma of desperation that repels quality advertisers faster than treif at a kashrut convention.

"That's a major part of the paper's revenue." He pointed out. "Why should I remove those?"

"Because," I explained, my advertising brain going into full gear… "Any publication that sells its cover real estate looks exactly like what it is—a desperate vessel for selling ad space, not a source of actual journalism and stories and the kind of things people actually want to read."

Then David asked me a question that made me lean forward:

"Do you have any recommendations or examples of what you are talking about that I can study?" That's not the kind of question someone who is just trying to make a few bucks asks.

"Could this be THE ONE?" I thought. "The Jew we have all been waiting for? Not Moshiach. But the one not afraid to ask the questions and ask the uncomfortable questions that are often needed to bring an organization or group of people closer to their goal."

So before I answered that question, I decided to test him. "Are you OK with controversy? With people throwing the paper on the street? Accusing you of Loshon Hora (even though I'll show you how not to be, with people being mad about you bringing up certain topics)."

This time, there was no Click-shuffle-click. Just a response.

"Justin," he said without skipping a breath. "If you knew me and what I've been through, you'd know that I am not scared of anyone."

Statements like that, delivered the way he delivered them (like a man who's been to war, or Sing Sing), need no further explanation. So I told him to study the cover artwork of the New Yorker magazine from the 60s. And to get the book "A Bomb in Every Issue: How the Short, Unruly Life of Ramparts Magazine Changed America" as well as the autobiography of its editor, Warren Hinckle. I also told him to study other journalists, such as gossip columnist Herb Cain (I'm still waiting for him to add a gossip column to the paper), as well as the gonzo style journalism of Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson. None of these topics or people would ever be found in the curriculum of a yeshiva. Or be studied by any of the journalists writing for any of the top 30 Jewish publications around the country. So I figured either he wouldn't do it, or once he did, he would give up immediately and mark me off as the troublemaker many others have.

What happened next shocked me into something approaching reverence.

Not only did David buy the books I recommended about Warren Hinckle's anarchic Ramparts magazine, but he also went on eBay and started collecting vintage issues, much like a media archaeologist studying the masters of controversy as a means of building circulation, with the intensity of a Talmudic scholar parsing ancient texts.

He quickly determined that… Click-shuffle-click… "We don't need to be opinionated like these papers were. We can discuss various topics from a thoroughly balanced perspective. The controversy in Orthodox Judaism will be just talking about some of these issues out loud."

His first (or should I say pre-first) issue featured a photograph that caused quite a stir: It was of David himself, literally setting fire to copies of the old Jewish Home in front of a dumpster, flames licking at the pages while he stared into the camera with the serene confidence of someone who understood that in the attention economy, being ignored is the only unforgivable sin. His editorial inside talked about how he was turning the LA Jewish Home into an advocacy paper. A paper for the families living in LA. A voice for the people afraid to speak up. It listed the topics the paper was going to address. Tuition hikes, tuition fees, the price of kosher food, addiction, internet safety, dating, and so much more. It ended with a stark message: "The gloves are off."

Bold? Certainly. Effective? Let's just say the paper was flooded with emails with concerns, you guessed it, of becoming a loshon hora rag. Several shuls reportedly wrote in saying that if the paper went in the direction he said he was taking it into, they wouldn't let it into their shul. Which is exactly what David was depending on. In the perverse mathematics of controversy, such outrage and actions (which did happen) translated directly into increased readership among those curious to see what all the fuss was about. Even David's partners in the paper got concerned. But David stayed calm throughout the whole thing. His one response to all of them.

Click-shuffle-click..."You'll see."

His first real issue (right in time for Rosh Hashana) was even more audacious: an exposé on Jewish private school tuition that flipped the conventional narrative like a rebellious teenager overturning the Passover seder table. Instead of the usual hand-wringing about expensive schools and their high costs, David and his writers investigated how the community itself enabled and perpetuated the tuition crisis. And called on people to choose Schools over Shuls when donating money for the holidays. It was a piece of journalism so heretical in its implications that it generated the kind of dinner-table arguments that define successful community coverage.

The next issue asked if we were really as Safe as we think we are. The issue after that dared to talk about the one addiction it's still not OK to talk about (or have a kiddush for being sober from). And the results were immediate and measurable: between 4,000 and 10,000 copies distributed per issue, depending on the season, to almost 300 locations across Southern California, with direct home delivery to close to 2,000 households. Advertising doubled, readership quadrupled, and suddenly everyone in Jewish LA was whispering about their opinions on something the LA Jewish Home was publishing.

When I finally visited David's operation, I'll admit to expecting something more... cinematic. You know the image: reporters scurrying between desks, phones ringing, the romantic chaos of deadline journalism immortalized in countless movies about the newspaper business. Instead, I found a remarkably efficient nerve center where LA's new favorite Shabbos reading material was being produced with Swiss-watch precision and startup energy.

There sits David, hunched over his Apple-everything command center—dual monitors glowing like digital prayer candles, audio interface connecting him to the universe of podcast possibilities, speakers pumping the music that fuels his creative process, and that omnipresent notebook where he physically writes his thoughts because, as he puts it, "I love writing things down physically."

Just across the newsroom, behind a desk littered with mockups, post-its, and an obnoxiously sized metal water bottle, sits Baily Rogatsky — editor, art director, and aesthetic conscience of The LA Jewish Home. If David is the engine, Baily is the steering wheel — keeping the publication not only on course but in style. She’s the one who turned “homemade newsletter” into “Hollywood tabloid meets Shabbos table,” and she does it with a gel pen, a Dropbox folder, and an eye for detail that borders on prophetic.

His even younger-looking wife Baily, often crafting editorials of her own, the two of them looking like a couple that just started dating in high school… innocent, sweet, utterly devoted to each other. But don't be fooled by their youthful appearance. They are also utterly devoted to the cause. “She really deserves the credit for much of what makes this operation hum with such precision,” David points out.  But even then, the chips never stop Click-shuffle-clicking...

Baily tells me that his daily routine borders on the monastic: davening, gym, then planted behind this technological shrine by 8 AM sharp for what he calls "DRT"—Daily Repetitive Tasks. All inboxes to zero. All accounts reconciled. Goals crystallized. His fuel of choice? Homemade iced lattes crafted on his personal espresso machine—double shot, splash of milk, ice, more milk. Done. No Starbucks dependency, no expensive coffee habits. Pure efficiency married to Orthodox practicality.

The transformation extends far beyond editorial philosophy. Where the old Jewish Home scattered advertisements across its cover like desperate confetti, David's version features covers designed with the bold aesthetic sensibility of someone who studied those old New Yorker issues like sacred texts. However, he confesses to one brief experiment (featuring LA's favorite local orthodontist on the cover during the summer months) that confirmed his original instincts.

"Needless to say," he grins, chips sliding between his fingers, "there are no more ads on the front cover."

His staff has grown to five people, both part-time and full-time, which is quite an accomplishment when compared to the zero he inherited. But the real innovation lies in what David calls his "automated beast"—which is essentially his own unique system and Standard Operating Procedures that eliminate redundancy with the obsessive efficiency of someone who views inefficiency as a personal moral failing. If something is slow "for no reason," he's "all up in there looking for the fix."

When I ask him how he chooses which topics to discuss, he says it's rather simple: "Baily and I are avid readers of the Jewish Journal," he says with a smirk. "Whatever they cover, we won't. Or, if we do, we will cover it very differently by discussing what they are too afraid to say."

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"And if I think they would never publish something, I know I've got a real 'take home' story."

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He calls them "take-home" stories because one can get the LA Jewish Home delivered to their home FOR FREE—though technically, readers need to pay for a service that delivers other items to their address, which then allows them to receive the paper at no additional cost. But they are called “take-home” papers because most people still get their copies at one of the 300 locations scattered across Los Angeles—from Pico-Robertson to LaBrea, from Beverly Hills to the Valley. A distribution network he used to share with the Jewish Journal.

That is, until they switched to a full "paid subscription" model a few weeks ago. “This is why the front cover is so important,” Baily points out. David agrees without saying a word. Their relationship with the competition reveals the strategic mind behind their youthful enthusiasm. Because, as far as David is concerned, the Jewish Journal's retreat behind its paywall was not just a smart business decision. It was a surrender. Their final free issue, dated August 8, 2025, carried the desperate headline: "Our Last Free Issue" with a plaintive plea buried in the staff section: "As you know, it's costly to produce and print your favorite paper every week. So we need thousands of readers like you to contribute by ordering home delivery."

David documented the moment on YouTube (where he documents his journey as LA's accidental orthodox editor-in-chief). He wasn't celebratory, he insists, just analytical. But it's hard to ignore that there isn't something almost biblical about it as the secular Goliath stumbles under the weight of subscription models and production costs, while little frum David was there with his slingshot of controversy and community engagement, ready to become LA's sole remaining free but PROFITABLE Jewish voice.

His assessment of their missteps?

"Fear. Fear of printing the topics that people wanted to read. Fear of the advertisers who'd disapprove of being associated with a paper that printed them. Fear. Fear and also 'Charging too much for ad space and not picking an alignment.' Fear of taking a stance on anything other than Israel." Click-shuffle-click. "Fear of printing anything that is actually going on in the community. Fear of writing about anything else other than October 7th."

According to David The Journal had tried to be everything to everyone...charging premium rates while serving lukewarm content that offended no one and excited even fewer. Their editorial choices revealed their disconnect from community values. When I ask him for an example, David holds up a blank cover of the LA Jewish home. I was confused at first but then Baily explained.

“During the recent LA fires, the Journal chose to put a picture of someone's home burning down on their cover. We found this approach tasteless. So instead, the LA Jewish homes cover remained elegantly blank. The only home we showed on fire was the home in our own Logo.” A symbolic gesture rather than exploiting someone's actual tragedy. “These weren’t other people’s homes burning down,” David points out. These were fellow Jews and readers of the Jewish Home. Copies of the Jewish home probably went up in those flames.”

Another example David liked to point out: To indicate how desperate the Journal had become for advertising and what kind of readers they considered their core audience, David likes to point to the "Jewish" mortuaries that offered cremation services (a theological contradiction so glaring that David uses it as his go-to example of editorial compromise gone wrong). "That's not something I'll ever allow to happen," he says, chips dancing faster with indignation, "no matter how much money comes knocking."

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"The LA Jewish Home has standards that adhere to the Orthodox Jewish community," he explains, the chips punctuating his words like a metronome of conviction. "However, what sets us apart is that, despite being an orthodox publication, we are still not afraid to address certain topics. Are we controversial? Yes. Do we walk a tight line sometimes? Yes. But people know that when they bring this paper into their homes, there's a level of respect they can expect from us."

David confesses to one moment of weakness where he killed a story to protect a potential advertiser. And the shame in his voice cuts through the usual media-executive bravado like a knife through warm challah. "I was a sucker for that 100%. I wish I had never done that. This person knows who they are, and all I can say is I hope they don't conduct their day-to-day business the same way they conducted themselves during the business deal. It was appalling."

The social dynamics of Orthodox publishing reveal themselves in David's community encounters. The Jews that live in Beverly Hills, Beverlywood and Hancock Park, he observes with anthropological precision, often respond with unconscious condescension: "Oh, that's so cute" or "Wow, I'm DEFINITELY going to read this…” though he notes that some of his most insightful feedback has come from that very demographic. "I think most of them are just operating in a different atmosphere," he says with the diplomatic grace of someone who understands that circulation requires readers from all tax brackets.

Pico-Robertson, the beating heart of Orthodox LA, along with LaBrea and the Valley communities, embraces the publication more readily. "That's who this paper was written for. Not just the people who shop here but also happen to own houses here. But the people who actually live and sweat and serve the community here. We're literally everywhere in Pico, LaBrea, the Valley, B"H," he grins, "so the people in these communities can't miss us as easily."

As for the future, as LA's now only FREE English Jewish publication, David has big plans. He reminds me of our first discussion and notes that he thinks it's time to start moving into the papers' "informative" phase. "This doesn't mean losing the controversial topics," he points out. "However, it does mean beginning to include other topics that people enjoy reading about, such as community events, gossip, recipes, food reviews, announcements, and life advice. As well as contests, comic strips, stories, and more."

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"Next year, we are going to start featuring someone from the community on the cover of every issue. The main story may be about them, or it may not be. However, there will always be a highlight story about someone from the community that serves as the main attraction."

To illustrate these covers and understand what sets David apart from other people running other papers… David has tapped Sheina Yarmush. "I want the paper to start feeling like Jewish LA. Sheina's artwork is everywhere in Jewish LA. It's hard to think of what Jewish LA looks like without visualizing one of her many murals. I want the paper to have a universal look and feel. So I figured every issue should be one of her murals as well."

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Understanding that print is a relic media that only happens to be relevant to the Orthodox Jewish community because of shabbos, David has also started building the social media presence of the paper and, along with a music executive, on fire Baal Teshuvah named David Greenberg, has formed a separate media agency called Hashpaa to handle this operation and also offer organic social media services to LA's Jewish business community.

But the most revealing moment comes when David discusses his vision not just for the paper, but for Jewish identity in America, the chips slowing slightly as his intensity builds: "Jewish identity in America relies on one thing: How loud can we be? Yidden in America need to wake up. There is nothing to be ashamed of being a Jew."

His question haunts our conversation: "If you believe in Hashem and the Torah, and you believe that nothing has changed since Matan Torah in terms of our relationship with G-d, then what is the practical difference between our generation with the tools at our disposal and King David or Shlomo, or Hezekiah and their generations? Were they not loud? Did they not dance? Were they not fighters? Did they not dance in the streets? Were they not willing to stand up for what's right?"

The poker chips pause in his hands (a rare moment of stillness from this perpetual motion machine) as he processes the weight of his own words. Here is a twenty-four-year-old Orthodox kid who (along with his wife) accidentally stumbled into becoming the voice of Jewish Los Angeles. A voice that started as a means to simply sell advertising space… but has since come to realize the responsibility that the ability to do so comes with.

"This isn't merely about selling advertising space anymore, is it?" I ask, cutting through the silence. "No," he replies. What’s it about, I ask. This time Baily chimes in:  "It's about creating the conversations that bind a community together."

The protege has surpassed the mentor.

David and Baily’s future plans bubble with the optimism of youth untainted by the traditional media industry's and the Journal’s death spiral: When I ask him what’s in the works he goes on again about online expansion, a giant exposé on kosher certification (which he is actually scared to publish) and an investigation into what he calls the Orthodox Judaism "monetization of kindness" where everyone is a "life" coach and where everyone has a place for the neighbor's family members can stay, as long as it’s booked through their AirBnBs.

"As long as Judaism is alive and an apocalypse doesn't wipe out every printing press in the world," he says with casual confidence, "we're going to need things to read on Shabbos."

The chips resume their hypnotic Click-shuffle-click...dance as David contemplates the empire he and Baily accidentally built from his three-room office. Whether he can sustain this energy, this vision, this remarkable combination of Orthodox values and journalistic insurgency…that remains the ultimate question. But for now, in a city where Jewish publications traditionally go to die (or be cremated in a Jewish mortuary of paywalls), David Rogatsky's LA Jewish Home is very much alive, very much growing, and very much the last FREE paper  standing in LA's Jewish media landscape.

These kids (and those eternally dancing poker chips) might just make it after all.