This Shabbat, we will read Parashat Balak, which features—among other things—a talking donkey. According to rabbinic legend, that donkey was one of ten magical items created at twilight before the first Shabbat. For some summer fun this week, we’ll explore some of those symbols and what they might teach us today.

“In 1970, a self-described “geeky kid from Kansas” named Gilbert Baker came to San Francisco as an Army draftee…After an honorable discharge, he stayed in San Francisco, free to pursue his dreams of being an artist. He learned to sew, making all the fabulous 70s clothes that he wanted but couldn’t buy.”

In 1977, Supervisor Harvey Milk—the first openly gay elected official in an American city, challenged Baker to design a symbol for the gay community, something to provide a positive alternative to the pink triangle by which GLBTQ+ folks were designated by the Nazi regime. While the community had reclaimed this symbol, Milk was seeking something that would engender joy and pride.

Baker dyed the fabrics himself and, with the help of volunteers, stitched together eight strips of brilliant color: hot pink stood for sexuality, red for life, orange for healing, yellow for the sun, green for nature, turquoise blue for art, indigo for harmony and violet for spirit. (Later, he dropped 2 of the colors to make it easier to produce). Thus, the rainbow flag was born.

The rainbow, though, was born in that same twilight as our other items of the week. Before the first Shabbat, God created the rainbow–which would eventually shine in the sky after the flood dried, when Noah found dry land. In its first iteration, the rainbow is a symbol of covenant, of security and of safety; God hangs the rainbow with a promise to never again destroy the earth with a flood.

When the Pride Flag was first displayed, Baker said: “We needed something to express our joy, our beauty, our power. And the rainbow did that.” Only 3 years later, the flag began to represent survival and resistance, as the AIDS crisis ravaged America’s gay community. I’d like to think that in 2021, the Pride Flag that flies all over the world, from Tel Aviv to Tarzana, symbolizes—as did the first rainbow in the sky—safety and security, of living life honestly and joyfully, with reverence for the past and hope for the future. Noah and his family were meant to look into the sky and see in that rainbow possibility; I hope our GLBTQ+ kids—and all of us, really—see the same in the rainbow flag.

Happy Pride!

— Rabbi Sari Laufer