On their way out of Mitrzayim, at the behest of Moshe Rabbeinu, the Jewish people "borrowed from the Egyptians silver objects, golden objects, and garments" (Shemos 12:35). Many meforshim wonder how this could have been sanctioned and even endorsed. After all, according to the Medrash (Psikta Zutrasa, Shemos 6:6) a contributing factor to the survival of the Jewish people was their staunch refusal to adopt the Egyptian mode of dress. If the Egyptian clothing was so problematic, why were the Jewish people permitted and encouraged to wear them upon leaving? The Shinever Rebbe (Divrei Yechezkel) suggests that in fact the Egyptian clothing was not meant to be worn as is, but deconstructed and used for its fabric. Alternatively, Rav Baruch ha-Levi Epstein (Tosefes Baracha) submits that the length of the Egyptian clothing caused it to be considered immodest. For this reason, the Jewish people were specifically instructed to "place them on your sons and daughters" (Shemos 3:22) for whom the shorter length might have been suitable and appropriate.
More convincingly, Rav Yosef Sorotzkin (Meged Yosef) proposes that the Egyptian clothing was not actually inherently distasteful or objectionable at all. The effort to maintain a distinctly Jewish wardrobe, and the resistance to conform to the prevailing trends, was part of a coordinated effort to create an embankment against the tide of acculturation and assimilation. By maintaining their native names, language, and style of dress, the Jewish people hoped to protect and preserve their unique identity and mission from the alluring onslaught of Egyptian culture. However, upon leaving Egypt and entering the desert, the boycott of Egyptian clothing would no longer be relevant. Perpetuating the fierce battle against the local particulars of Egyptian society while removed and residing far away in the desert would be akin to the last stand of Hiroo Onoda and wrestling with the ghosts of the past. To avoid this kind of anachronistic folly, the Jewish people were asked to place the Egyptian clothing, if not on themselves, at least on their children. It might have been too soon or too difficult for the adults to don the very object of their remonstrations, but the children needed to pivot and be poised to confront the challenges that lied ahead.
While the dangers and pitfalls of galus are universal and omnipresent, every iteration comes dressed in a different set of clothing. The Gemara (Menachos 28b) states that almost all the utensils fashioned by Moshe for the Mishkan could be passed down to future generations. Only the chatzosros, the silver trumpets used to gather the people for the purpose of traveling or waging war, needed to be forged anew. Rav Yechezkel Abramsky explains that the utensils represent the performance of the mitzvos and avodas Hashem whose methods, forms, and principles are immutable and eternal. Therefore, the utensils from one generation are equally effective and valid in subsequent generations since the performance and substance of the mitzvos ought to be identical. However, the chatzosros were meant to inspire the people to move and change, and although its call and content was consistent, the vehicle and method used to convey its message must be adapted to the current situation. The leaders in every generation are charged with creating their own set of chatzosros to amplify the timeless values and lessons of the Torah in a way that will resonate and be applicable to the context and constituency of the times.
Indeed, when the proper pitch and chord of the chatzosros is struck the Jewish people are acutely attuned and inclined to listen. The Gemara (Sotah 12a) tells us, "Amram, the father of Moshe was the gadol hador. Once he saw that Pharaoh said: Every son that is born you shall cast into the river and every daughter you shall save alive, he said: We are laboring for nothing by bringing children into the world to be killed. Therefore, he arose and divorced his wife. All others who saw this followed his example and arose and divorced their wives. His daughter, Miriam, said to him: Father, your decree is harsher for the Jewish people than that of Pharaoh, as Pharaoh decreed only regarding the males, but you decreed both on the males and on the females. And now no children will be born. Amram accepted his daughter's words and arose and remarried his wife, and all others who saw this followed his example and arose and brought back their wives."
Rav Chatzkel Levenstein (Ohr Yechezkel) notes the astonishingly deferential way the Jewish people followed Amram's personal example. Without plastering pashkevilim on the walls of the city or dispatching roaming loudspeakers proclaiming the binding nature of his position, the entirety of the Jewish community undertook the drastic step of divorcing and then remarrying their wives without any clarifications, comments, or complaints. We can only imagine what the contemporary reaction would be to such a bold decision and retraction. What accounts for this disparity? Have the temperament and attitude of the Jewish people changed so much?
It seems that the secret to Amram's implicit influence over the Jewish people is hinted to by another detail of the story. After Miriam informed her father that his actions would ultimately cause the demise of the Jewish people, he heard her argument and changed course. But why did he need Miriam to alert him to this eventuality? Could he not foresee independently that the Jewish people would not be viable for very long as a nation of divorced couples and stagnating families?
Perhaps Amram only intended to separate from his wife temporarily as a sign of solidarity. Many families had been shattered by the death of their sons who were forcibly drowned in the Nile. As far as we know, Amram was not impacted personally by this barbaric decree, but he likely felt uncomfortable continuing his normal routine at home, with his family intact, while others were suffering and sacrificing. Much like the sentiment today, for those of us on the sidelines of the war in Eretz Yisrael, he was desperate to do something to show his support for those who were grieving and anxious, so he suspended his own marriage. Many others presumably felt the same way and therefore, without any prompting, immediately followed suit. However, Miriam observed that this movement was in fact counterproductive. Instead of strengthening the resolve of the families who were directly affected, as intended, it had caused them to become more despondent and hopeless. Amram accepted her assessment and resumed his regular family life in the hopes of restoring their sense of optimism. Once again, the rest of Jewish people also resumed their marriages in a resounding chorus of confidence about the resiliency of the Jewish future.
Amram did not need to give fiery derashos, issue a kol korei, or write a teshuvah to persuade people of his opinion. He had authority because he was speaking to the heart and mood of the people. They intuitively knew that he had hit the mark and therefore they responded in kind. During the uncertainty of a crisis, when the hearts of the Jewish people are broken, they crave rabbinic guidance, they long for it instinctively. But for it to be effective it is essential that it be in tune and in touch with the times.
This lesson is already alluded to by the pasuk, "you shall come ... to the judge who will be in those days" (Devarim 17:9). Rashi comments, "and even though he is not as eminent as other judges that have preceded him ... you have none else but the judge that lives in your days." Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz (Sichas Mussar) comments that this directive is not a begrudging obligation to adhere to the rulings of a declining and dwindling selection of judges, since there is no other option, rather it is a glowing endorsement of their credentials. Only leaders who "live in your days" are qualified and equipped to confront the challenges of the times. We are told, "remember the days of old understand the years of generations" (Devarim 32:7). The root "shanah" or "year" is related to the root "shinui" or "difference," because while we are enjoined to revere and remember the teachings of the past we must simultaneously contemplate and be sensitive to the differences that exist between generations.