Patty Harpenau - The Life Codes

Table of Contents

For nothing is hidden that will not become evident.

JESHUA BEN JOSEPH

This narrative describes the journey on which I was shown the codes of life. They were taught to me by special teachers, and when you acquaint yourself with the codes, you will notice that you find quietude in your heart, happiness in your mind, and joy in your soul. The book describes seven days with seven codes. Seven teachers during your journey will teach you about the codes. At the end of each chapter you will find a brief summary, a question, and an explanation. You may choose to read it on the days of the week and to begin on Monday, or to first read all the codes and then return to the questions and explanations. As you progress, you can take a break to digest what you have learned and then, when you feel ready, return to where you were. Everything is possible. You can travel in whatever way feels good for you and make this journey as personal as you like. It does not matter how you travel, but that you travel. The only advice that I give you on your journey is to enjoy it.

For now... breathe steadily, install yourself on your couch with a cup of tea, and enjoy the journey. Allow yourself to be enchanted by the teachers in this book, and let their words warm your heart and permit your life to be changed by the codes.

MICHAL BAT ABRAHAM

The room was dark. The rabbis wife sighed in resignation. She was tired. It was extremely hot that day and the energy in the room seemed to evaporate. The early evening smelled of fatigue. Rebecca, my teacher, clearly had had enough of the endless stream of questions that I was firing at her. She knotted her floral-print apron around her waist, and I understood from this signal that she wanted to return to her flock of children.

Rebecca was mother to eleven children and the wife of one of the highest-ranking rabbis of the yeshiva. He taught at a Jewish school of mysticism that was different from most yeshivas. Rebeccas life was made up of homemaking for her large family and extensive organization, because the daily stream of guests who came to see her famous husband was impressive. Many came from abroad, and an even greater number came from within the country itself.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I took the bus from my home to the Orthodox Jewish neighborhood, which was located not too far from the centuries-old center of Jerusalem. Directly opposite the bus stop was a modern coffee shop. The owner had by now become used to the fact that a European woman dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt entered his shop, ordered an espresso, and headed for the toilet, from which a short time later she emerged in a long skirt and a long-sleeved cardigan, and wearing a scarf around her head.

During the first week, he eyed me guardedly. The second week, he stopped me in my tracks and demanded an explanation. From that day on he shared my secret. I studied kabbalah in the heart of Jerusalem, at the best and most controversial orthodox yeshiva. I do not know which he found more striking: the changing of clothes or the fact that a woman was studying kabbalah. He found it so amusing that he got my espresso together with a kosher sandwich ready as soon as the bus arrived at the stop. To guard my secret, I was given a special place behind the bar where I could discreetly stow my bag. I finished the espresso, saving the sandwich for lunchtime, and, my heart pounding, sneaked out of the coffee shop. I was afraid of being recognized. If someone were to identify me as a modern European woman, my studies would become history that same day. There was little risk, though, because the metamorphosis was considerable. And yet once I had turned the corner, I walked quickly along the pavement.

Every time I made the journey I would be met by a group of enthusiastic children halfway down the streetthey seemed to tumble over me from all directions. I was hugged and made fun of because of my Dutch accent, and all the while my handbag would be brazenly emptied by the skillful fingers of the children looking for something tasty. The first thing to disappear was my lunch. If not enough could be found in my handbag, they also went for my pockets, and they quickly discovered the secret storage place in my knee socks. Rebeccas children warmed my soul, opened my heart, and filled my thoughts with love. The most precious moment, which always made my home-sickness disappear, was the rubbing nose of her youngest child, Benjamin, who was allowed to use my sleeve as a handkerchief. However, as rapidly as they had noisily engulfed me, the children fell silent as we approached the school door. From the second stone onward, the laughter died and my child friends turned into wise little people.

They understood whose children they were and hid their joy of life out of respect for those who found life more difficult. In the heart of this courtyard lived the rabbi with his family, and every day at the entrance a row of people could be found, waiting for words of healing, spontaneous miracles, wise counsel, or inspirational solutions.

Rebeccas fervent tapping interrupted my thoughts. It was clearly time for me to go, but something inside me refused. A wave of rebelliousness swept through me: I missed my country, I felt lonely and frustrated, and the lack of money was tearing me apart.

Rebecca, this is not getting me anywhere, I murmured softly. She put her hand on mine and turned it palm up as if she were searching for a life line that could help her better understand me.

Why dont you get married? Why dont you become the wife of a rabbi like me? I can see that you love children and you are beautiful. Do as I have done. Study in the back room. Listen to your husband and ask him your questions at the right time. There is nothing more I can teach you. You know all the rules for women, but your questions are those of a man.

At that moment, I understood her secret. She knew the answers, but she was neither allowed nor able to share them. It was her task to explain the rules, laws, and codes that Jewish women should follow in life. Further than that she could not go.

What a fool I had been! My ego had regularly whispered that she did not know the answers. I had created the illusion that I was smarter, because using my fathers name I had secretly borrowed books from the yeshiva library, books that were not intended for women. Yet she had read them, just as I had; all of them and perhaps even more. Most likely with her heart pounding, in hidden rooms and at snatched hours, a secret covenant between her and her husband. Does your husband teach you? My question surprised me, and for a moment I thought she would be angry, but instead she stroked my head and left the room. The lesson was over. I felt confused. As if I had discovered a secret that I found I did not want revealed. I had not wanted to know that she was not allowed to share her knowledge with me. Her desire to protect the reputation of her husband was stronger than her desire to impart knowledge. I thought of all the women our history can boast of, those who were never heard or read, because they were women. How many of them over the centuries had hidden their wisdom? How many women had lost their dreams because they were not able or not allowed to show who they really were? From them were born the story women, wise women who knew the secrets of the soul, who smelled the breath of the universe and could find the light of power and explain the miracles of life. Throughout the centuries, they had been persecuted by the same kings and rulers who had first consulted them. Meticulously, they handed down their tales and knowledge to their daughters, hoping to make their stories the ambassadors of their hidden wisdom.