There are many sure indications that summer is coming to its customary slow end. There are fewer tourists standing to the left, impeding commuters on their daily Metro rides to work. There are more minivans in the streets, signaling parents bringing their children back to one of the surrounding colleges. There are seemingly endless pitches for the newest fashions and the drama and comedy of the fall television line-up.

The other sure sign that summer is over is the oft-assigned essay entitled, "What I Did on My Summer Vacation." I remember dreading this essay as a child, thinking that others would have far more interesting stories than my personal tales of day camp at Chippewa Park.

As I have gotten older, the stories have grown more interesting, or at least I have learned to sufficiently embellish the telling so they seem so.

So, what did I do this summer? I spent a lot of time at museums. I finished a number of books. I went to a few ballgames, and a few spectacles of the musical theater presented under the stars. I traveled to Kunkletown, Pa., to spend time at camp and to Chicago to spend time with family.

Perhaps the defining moment of my summer came as I stepped off the airplane for my annual pilgrimage to my hometown --and my luggage did not follow.

One can learn a lot about oneself in this situation.

At first, I was simply annoyed by the hassle that lost luggage represents: The late-night trip to Target for a few pieces of clean clothing. Having to use the brands of shampoo and conditioner stocked by members of my family instead of those chosen carefully to make the best of my curls in the humidity of summer.

As I began to make a list of all that was in my Eddie Bauer rolling duffle, I started to get sad. It wasn't because of the possessions themselves, but what many of them represented. Much of what I had packed carried a memory: the outfit I was wearing when I saw my first Broadway show, the kicky red shoes given me in appreciation for a helping friend pack for a move. I was bereft at the thought of the loss of so many memories.

Hillel, the first-century sage, taught in Pirke Avot ( :7): "The more flesh the more worms; the more possessions the more anxiety."

He has a point. I didn't feel at ease until the ATA agent called to let me know my luggage had arrived in Chicago.

In the same chapter and verse, Hillel also taught: "But the more Torah the more life, the more schooling the more wisdom; the more counsel the more understanding; the more righteousness the more peace."

I've thought about this piece of wisdom a great deal since returning home from my trip. In putting all of these ideas in the same verse with comments about possessions and worry, Hillel clearly sends a message about what he feels is of greater importance. Turn away from your life of excess he says--it will only cause you grief--and turn to a life of Torah and learning.

Now I enjoy Torah learning as much as the next guy--let's admit it, probably a little bit more than the next guy. But I think that I can live a balanced life which includes both Torah and material things.

The combination of Hillel's wisdom and my lost luggage gave me some perspective. As I waited to hear of the fate of my belongings, I still remembered the thrill I had leaving that New York theater. Even if my possessions had been temporarily lost, I hadn't lost the memories that were attached to them. And I might have spent the energy I wasted on anxiety in a more productive pursuit.

As I enter into this New Year, I can't say for sure that I will acquire less. Perhaps I will. I know that when I think of all I have-- after this summer's experience--it will be easier to focus on the non- material riches with which I am blessed: A lifetime of learning, friends and family with whom I share experiences which become the stuff of memory...the list goes on and on.

I look forward to celebrating another holiday cycle with you. May we continue to learn and grow together.