Nonetheless, huddled inside our faux castle or stiff armed behind the wheel of our turret-free tank, we are the same frail, questioning creatures. Why do our possessions look as though we were feeding them steroids?

The child whose bar mitzvah celebration becomes a faux Roman gladiator spectacle (since one needs a theme) is still a child. But he has learned that the passage into Jewish adulthood is a road paved with ostentation and garishness. Is it any wonder that he moves swiftly along that road in later years?

"Things are in the saddle," writes Emerson, "and ride mankind." So the bat mitzvah rides in on a pony and her parents beam because they have shown the world not who they are but what they can afford.

But if we are important because of our things, we accord the image of God inside us no dignity.

Jewish tradition prescribes a plain pine box for burial. Everyone, peasant to potentate, should have the same coffin. Do not be deceived; your possessions do not fend off the ills of life. Rather, by keeping them in perspective, you enhance your life and honor God.