It's not about being stingy, but about creating a sense of progression, a journey. Believe it or not, we find a hint of this idea in the book of Bamidbar Rabbah, specifically in section 21.

The text opens with a question about the sacrifices offered during Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles. Why, it asks, did God command a diminishing number of bulls to be sacrificed each day? What did He "see" that led Him to reduce the number?

Bamidbar Rabbah suggests a fascinating explanation: "The Torah taught you etiquette from the offerings." Imagine you're a guest at an inn. On the first day, the innkeeper welcomes you with open arms and serves you the finest fowl. The second day brings a hearty meat dish. By the third, you're enjoying fresh fish. But as the days pass, the meals become simpler – vegetables, perhaps, and finally, just legumes.

It's a clever analogy, isn't it? The diminishing offerings mirror the natural ebb and flow of hospitality. It's not about a decline in affection, but a gentle acknowledgment of the passage of time and a shift in the dynamic.

Then, the text shifts to a different kind of feast: the festivals themselves. "’It shall be…for you’ (Numbers 29:35) – what is 'it shall be…for you'?" Bamidbar Rabbah interprets this as God saying, "The festivals are seemly for you." They are appropriate, fitting, a source of joy and connection.

This brings us to a pointed exchange between Rabbi Akiva and an idolater. The idolater challenges the very notion of Jewish festivals, quoting the prophet Isaiah: "My soul loathes your New Moons and your festivals" (Isaiah 1:14). Ouch.

But Rabbi Akiva, a towering figure in Jewish tradition, doesn't back down. He cleverly points out that the verse doesn't say "My New Moons and My festivals." It says "your New Moons and your festivals." The implication? The problem lies with the festivals that Yerovam, the first king of the Northern Kingdom of Israel after the split, instituted.

As the text reminds us, "Yerovam instituted a festival in the eighth month, on the fifteenth day of the month, like the festival that is in Judah" (1 Kings 12:32). He created his own version, a counterfeit holiday, as it were. "He ascended onto the altar that he had crafted in Beit El... in the month that he fabricated from his own heart." (1 Kings 12:33).

The true festivals, the ones ordained by God, are different. They are eternal. "These are the festivals of the Lord" (Leviticus 23:37); "These are My festivals" (Leviticus 23:2). And as we learn, "Moses spoke the festivals of the Lord [to the children of Israel]" (Leviticus 23:44). Because of this, they will never be annulled. The passage concludes with a powerful affirmation: "They are set firmly for all eternity, fashioned in truth and uprightness" (Psalms 111:8).

So, what can we take away from this passage in Bamidbar Rabbah? Perhaps it's a reminder to appreciate the nuances of tradition, the subtle ways in which we connect with the divine. Or maybe it's a call to discern between the authentic and the imitation, to hold fast to the festivals that are truly "of the Lord." Whatever it is, it certainly gives us something to chew on, doesn't it?