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Reaction at Temple Sinai, where Siegel is still rabbi, has varied from reserved agreement to outrage. "We had such a nice family-like congregation here," laments one congregant. "Now this." Siegel's critics among his fellow rabbis are not so much disturbed by his portrait of a vacuous congregation as his own passive performance. "A rabbi," argues young Orthodox Rabbi Steven Riskin of Manhattan, "is foremost the educator of his community. He must impart values and represent them in his own life." Yet Siegel confesses that he "doesn't know" why he is a rabbi: he chooses to stay one because, among other things, "I have no place else to go." There is also, he reveals, an income of more than $25,000 a year, a 15-room home, and a swimming pool. "Who would want to give up a swimming pool?" he asks.
Clearly, not Siegel. In fact, he wants a raise "because in this community one's ability is measured by the amount of money he makes." Less than two months after the diary begins, Siegel records his visions of its commercial success, his potential as an "ephemeral public personality," and his chance for a shot at the Johnny Carson Show. But the height of chutzpah is the entry for Aug. 1, 1969: "Last night I dreamt I won the National Book Award for this diary." God forbid.