The Unchanging Will and the Human Experience: Understanding Divine Speech

Based on the teachings of Rabbi Gershon Chanokh Henoch Leiner of Radzin

The Distinction Between Human and Divine Promises

In his profound work Sha'ar HaEmunah VeYesod HaChasidut, Rabbi Gershon Chanokh Leiner opens by establishing a fundamental distinction between the nature of human speech and Divine speech. When a human being makes a promise or a statement, their word is vulnerable because their will is subject to change; if a person changes their mind later, they must retract their original words and say something new to reflect their new stance. In stark contrast, the Creator’s word is described in this text as "living and enduring" because His will is absolute and not subject to the fluctuations that characterize human psychology. God does not "change His mind" or withdraw His will; rather, the Divine will is a constant, unceasing force of reality. Therefore, when we perceive a change in how God is treating us—shifting from kindness to judgment, or from protection to exposure—it is not because God’s will has wavered, but because our own position relative to that will has shifted.

The Root of Spiritual Anxiety

This theological principle explains the deep fear experienced by the Patriarch Yaakov, as described in the Talmud (Berachot 4), despite the specific promises made to him by God. Yaakov was afraid that his sins might have altered his relationship with the Divine, causing him to lose the protection he had been promised, which seems to contradict the idea of a faithful God. However, the Radziner Rebbe clarifies that Yaakov understood that while God’s promise is unbreakable, the recipient's capacity to receive that promise can be damaged. A person’s actions determine how they experience the eternal word of God; if they act with integrity, they experience the Divine word as benevolence, but if they act destructively, they may experience that exact same Divine force as judgment or restriction. Thus, spiritual anxiety often stems not from a doubt in God’s power, but from an intuitive recognition that our own alignment plays a critical role in how reality unfolds for us.

The Conditional Nature of "The Vessel"

Rabbi Leiner reinforces this concept by citing the Zohar’s statement that "all of Your words are on condition," using it to reconcile human free will with Divine omnipotence. This does not mean that God is indecisive, but rather that the manifestation of God's will in a person's life depends entirely on the "vessel" that the person creates through their choices. The text explains that at the source of God’s will, there is absolutely no change or variation; the variable is entirely on the side of the human being. Human free will operates within the "limitations of perception," meaning we choose how to perceive and react to the reality God creates. Whether a person attains goodness, wholeness, and bliss depends on whether they choose to align their limited awareness with the infinite will of the Creator.

The Unconscious Service of the Wicked

A profound and challenging aspect of the Radziner Rebbe's teaching is the revelation that even those who actively rebel against God are still ultimately serving His plan. The text asserts that God’s will directs even the wicked, guiding them in ways that transcend their own intellect and rebellious intentions. Historical figures like Pharaoh, Haman, and Esav believed they were acting autonomously to destroy goodness, yet they were unknowingly being used as agents to reveal God’s majesty and deliver salvation. This leads to a tragic irony for the wicked: while they are instrumental in the unfolding of history, they are completely blind to their true role. They do not "see the majesty of God" because they lack the conscious intention to serve Him, leaving them spiritually empty even as they unwittingly help fulfill a Divine purpose.

The Illusion of Damaging the Divine

Sha'ar HaEmunah VeYesod HaChasidut further clarifies a crucial point about the nature of sin: a transgressor never actually damages God’s governance or ruins the Divine plan. The damage caused by sin is strictly internal, limited to the sinner's own perception and their own experience of the world. As the verse in Deuteronomy notes, "The blemish is on His children," which the translation of Onkelos interprets to mean they have corrupted themselves, not Him. From the sinner's perspective, it may look like they have introduced chaos and destruction into the world, but from the higher perspective of Divine governance, the plan remains intact and unblemished. The tragedy of sin is that the sinner breaks their own ability to perceive the good, essentially trapping themselves in a nightmare of their own making while reality itself continues to move toward the good.

"Vomiting Up" Success

Finally, the article addresses the phenomenon of the wicked attaining temporary wealth or power, described by Zofar in the Book of Job as "swallowing riches" only to "vomit them up." Sometimes, the Divine plan requires a specific person to have resources or influence for a moment in time to facilitate a larger outcome. However, because the individual’s intention was self-serving or corrupt, these achievements cannot remain with them eternally; the good results do not "stick" to their soul. Since the positive outcome happened through them but not by their conscious desire to do good, they receive no spiritual reward and eventually lose the physical benefit as well. They are compared to a person who eats but cannot digest the food; the experience passes through them without nourishing their essence, leaving them with no share in the ultimate joy of the reality they helped create.

The Kabbalistic Renaissance in Safed

In 1492, the Spanish expulsion scattered the Jewish people across the globe. While some journeyed westward toward the promise of new lands, including the Americas, the majority turned eastward. Many found refuge in the Ottoman Empire, and a significant number made their way to the Holy Land, settling in the city of Safed. What emerged in this small, northern town during the early sixteenth century was nothing short of a spiritual renaissance. For a period of roughly eighty years, Safed became the epicenter of Jewish thought, legal scholarship, and mystical revelation. Its influence would ripple through Jewish life for generations.

At the center of Safed’s legal revival stood Rabbi Joseph Karo, a towering scholar and halachic authority. After authoring his extensive legal commentary, the Bet Yosef, which meticulously traced the sources of Jewish law, he distilled this vast knowledge into the Shulchan Aruch, the Code of Jewish Law. This work became, and remains, a central text in Jewish legal observance. But the brilliance of Safed in that era was not only in law. It was also the city of mystics, among them Rabbi Moses Cordovero—known as the Ramak—who wrote the profound Kabbalistic work Pardes Rimonim.

Yet the most luminous figure of this mystical circle was Rabbi Isaac Luria, known reverently as the Arizal, short for “the G‑dly Rabbi Isaac of blessed memory.” Though he lived only 38 years, the depth of his spiritual vision, the expansiveness of his soul, and the brilliance of his insight left an impact that would define the future of Kabbalah. The Arizal’s teachings, all transmitted orally, were recorded with fidelity by his foremost student, Rabbi Chaim Vital, and preserved in what is collectively called the Kitvei Ari—the Writings of the Arizal.

The Zohar, despite its revered status, remained largely cryptic and impenetrable without proper context. It was the Arizal who opened that context. Without his system, the Zohar reads as a poetic yet fragmented meditation on the mystical tradition. With his guidance, however, its structure, meanings, and purposes begin to emerge. The Arizal didn’t just interpret Kabbalah—he systematized it. He organized its vast ideas into a coherent and usable framework. His primary theoretical work, Etz Chaim (Tree of Life), lays out the foundations. Once this is understood, the remaining texts—including Pri Etz Chaim and Shaar HaKavanot—guide the reader in applying this framework to the practical rituals of daily Jewish life: donning tefillin, saying blessings, observing holidays, and engaging in spiritual meditation.

These writings were eventually arranged into a structured collection called Shemonah Shearim, or the Eight Gates. Each gate focuses on a particular dimension of spiritual life. The Gate of Introductions offers foundational theory. The Gate of Zoharic Teachings and the Gate of Talmudic Teachings connect Lurianic thought to earlier textual sources. The Gate of Biblical Verses and the Gate of the Commandments show how the mystical interpretation flows through Scripture and Halacha. The Gate of Meditations offers practical techniques for spiritual engagement. The Gate of Divine Inspiration teaches how to internalize and live this wisdom. And the Gate of Reincarnations outlines the soul’s journey across lifetimes.

Among these, the Gate of Divine Inspiration (Shaar Ruach Hakodesh) may be the key to the entire collection. While the other gates explain the system in theory, this one teaches how to make it real—how to move from knowledge to transformation. Through meditative practices, intention, and disciplined consciousness, the Arizal’s teachings become not only ideas to learn, but tools for spiritual ascent.

What set the Arizal apart from earlier mystics wasn’t only his profound knowledge, but his vision that the time had come to share it. For centuries, Kabbalah had been guarded, passed only among the initiated. But Rabbi Chaim Vital records in the name of his master a revolutionary directive: “It is a mitzvah to reveal this wisdom.” The moment had arrived to open the gates—to take the mystical tradition and make it accessible to the broader Jewish world. In doing so, the Arizal lit a fire that would reshape Jewish spirituality.

The school of Lurianic Kabbalah, founded on his teachings, spread across the Jewish world, weaving itself into prayer, custom, and thought. Its influence can be felt in the Chassidic movements, in the liturgy of Yom Kippur, and in the way Jews experience the holidays and the flow of spiritual time. What began in the hills of Safed became a revolution that gave soul to Jewish practice and renewed a sense of cosmic purpose to every mitzvah, every moment.

The Emergence of the Zohar: A Hidden Light in Tumultuous Times

During one of the most oppressive eras in Jewish history, under the heavy shadow of Roman persecution, a flame of mystical wisdom was preserved and committed to writing. It was during the Tannaic period that Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai—known as the Rashbi—composed the most renowned text of Kabbalah: the Zohar. A disciple of Rabbi Akiva, Rashbi lived in a time when Torah sages were hunted, arrested, and executed for the crime of teaching Jewish law. Rabbi Akiva himself was brutally martyred, and Rashbi’s survival was nothing short of miraculous.

To escape this fate, Rashbi and his son, Rabbi Elazar, fled into hiding and took refuge in a cave. For thirteen years, they secluded themselves from the outside world, surviving on dates and spring water while immersing themselves in spiritual study. During this time of isolation, they were not alone in spirit. The Talmud recounts that Elijah the Prophet appeared to them, and through this prophetic connection and Divine inspiration—Ruach Hakodesh—Rashbi began composing what would become the Zohar.

The Zohar is not simply a commentary on the Five Books of Moses. Written in a unique blend of Hebrew and Aramaic, its style is poetic, symbolic, and deeply layered. The text explores the mystical dimensions of Torah, weaving together interpretations that hint at secrets hidden beneath the surface. Earlier Kabbalistic works such as Sefer Yetzirah and Sefer HaBahir predate the Zohar, but none match its scope or depth. Its comprehensiveness elevated it to a central position in Jewish mysticism. All subsequent schools of Kabbalistic thought, including the monumental teachings of the Arizal in the 16th century, would trace their roots back to this sacred work.

For centuries, however, the Zohar remained concealed. Its teachings were known only to a handful of initiated mystics, carefully preserved in secrecy. Then, in the thirteenth century, the text emerged in Spain, brought to light by Rabbi Moshe de Leon. How he came to possess the Zohar is a matter of speculation and legend. Some believed that the Ramban—Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, a great Kabbalist of that era—had sent the manuscripts from the Land of Israel to his son, only for the shipment to go astray and land in Rabbi Moshe de Leon’s possession. Others claimed the texts had been hidden in a vault for centuries and were discovered by an Arabian king who later sent them to Toledo to be deciphered. Still another theory suggests that Spanish explorers found them among a trove of manuscripts in an academy in Heidelberg. Whatever the path, the Zohar was received and embraced by the leading scholars of the time as authentic.

The mystics held that studying the Zohar did more than expand understanding—it changed reality. Reciting its sacred words was said to nullify harsh decrees, ease the suffering of exile, draw down blessings, and hasten redemption. In certain circles, even reading its verses without understanding was considered profoundly meritorious, though the ideal has always been to comprehend the teachings it holds. Over time, translations and commentaries have made the Zohar more accessible, yet it remains a deeply cryptic text. Without the guidance of later masters and their introductions and explanations, its inner meanings often remain hidden.

By this point in history, four central texts had formed the corpus of written Kabbalistic tradition: Sefer Yetzirah, Sefer HaBahir, Pirkei Heichalot Rabati, and the Zohar. These works encapsulated the mystical teachings passed down from the prophets and sages since the time of Moses. And while their preservation in writing safeguarded them from extinction, the tradition itself remained largely oral. The full depth of the teachings, the experiential knowledge, the meditative methods, and the keys to unlock the encoded language of the texts—these were held closely within a small, guarded circle.

That would remain the case until a new chapter of Kabbalistic history unfolded centuries later, in the hills of northern Israel, in the mystical town of Safed. There, in the sixteenth century, the secrets of the Zohar would be further illuminated and revealed to the world in a way that would shape Jewish spirituality for generations to come.