But that's precisely what some interpretations of the Zohar suggest.

Now, let's be clear from the get-go: The Zohar, a foundational text of Kabbalah, doesn't mean that God, Havaya, praised be He, literally changes. As it says in Malachi 3:6, "I, Havaya, have not changed." So how do we reconcile this with passages that seem to imply otherwise? For instance, the Zohar itself (Bo, section 7) states that "Israel... give force and power to the Holy one, blessed be He.” What are we to make of it?

Well, the great Kabbalist, Baal HaSulam, offers a beautiful way to understand it in his "Preface to Zohar." He argues that it all comes down to the original intent of Creation: to bestow goodness. God, in His infinite generosity, desired to share His abundance with us, His creations.

Think about it this way: in our human experience, doesn’t the joy of giving increase when we see the happiness of those receiving? The more people who benefit from our generosity, the greater our satisfaction. Baal HaSulam uses this analogy to explain how the sephirot, the divine emanations, specifically the vessels of Ḥokhma (wisdom), Bina (understanding), Tiferet (beauty), and Malkhut (kingdom) within the realm of Atzilut (emanation), can be described as "growing" or "diminishing."

When we, the lower creations, are worthy of receiving the divine shefa (influx, abundance) of Atzilut, it's as if the "brains" – representing those sefirotic vessels – "grow." It's not that Atzilut itself is changing, but rather that our capacity to receive from it expands. As Baal HaSulam clarifies, when lower beings are worthy of receiving the divine bestowal, they become more expansive vessels for God's shared light. This is described as the brains of Atzilut now "growing," as they can now give more, since the receiver has grown. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this is something we see echoed throughout much of Jewish mystical thought.

Conversely, when we are unworthy, it's as if those "brains" diminish – not because they are inherently lessened, but because there's no one to receive their light. It's like having a feast prepared, but no guests to partake in it. This concept of worthiness echoes throughout much of Midrash Rabbah.

So, the Zohar's seemingly radical statements about our impact on the Divine are actually a profound teaching about our potential to connect with and receive God's boundless goodness. It's a reminder that our actions, our choices, and our striving for spiritual growth directly affect our ability to experience the fullness of God's light.

What does this mean for us in our daily lives? Perhaps it encourages us to be more mindful of our actions, knowing that they have far-reaching consequences. Maybe it inspires us to cultivate greater worthiness within ourselves, so that we can become more open vessels for God's shefa. And maybe, just maybe, it gives us a glimpse into the profound interconnectedness of all things, the intricate dance between Creator and creation.