In Honor, In Loving Memory of My Dad!

"Death be not proud, though some have called thee"

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Remembering Dad On His 87th Birthday

March 21 - Today Bernie Leyden would have been 87 years-old.

I awoke in Israel to the sound of my mobile phone ringing. The caller ID said: "Dad Fla".
I never removed that ID. My step-mother, Alice, now lives alone at that Palm Beach address.

We spoke for almost an hour. With all that we had to say, it was what we were not saying, how much we both missed this man. Hard to believe that he has been gone for over a year.

I still remember what he stoically told all his friends a week before he died, before he lost his battle against cancer. When asked what was up, is everything OK? Bernie would simply smile and say: "Bernie Leyden is in big shit."

There was almost nothing that my father who grew up with nothing and became a self-made millionaire could not negotiate his way out of.

But death was one challenge he could no longer beat.


And it truly frustrated him as prostate cancer in a matter of only two months consumed his life. It was truly difficult for him to address this issue that he could not conquer. Before flying off to New York, I would call him and ask how he was doing - he would just hang up the phone ............

Yes, he always took good care of himself. Went to doctors before a problem became a problem. And rode a stationery bike every day to stay fit.

He would always look at the food I was eating and my stomach and say: "you have to lose that."

For the most part, my father never had much time for me. I could never really understand why until today. Growing up in the Great Depression with nothing was something that he vowed would never be again, not for him, not for his children. He was always working. He was good at his work. Whether it was a shipping deal or leading the Jewish community in New York - he always got the job done.

I am no different than you dad. Perhaps worse, as the Internet runs 24/7.

I learned much from Bernard Leyden.

The ethics of working hard. Being honest. A family man who loved and adored my children, his grandchildren - Lior, David and Amanda.

Giving to charity. Supporting Israel. Being a Zionist.

My father would look down on me right now, chewing on some peanuts, and say: "How are you going to make money on that?" My response, would be "I won't", but I think he would understand.

As my father entered his last few hours, I played Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby for him in his New York hospice room.

He took his last breath as I played My Way.



He would have liked that.