Bruce Ira Lichtenstein

There are no right words, no proper way to handle it, as we grow, loss is inevitable. We know this and we try our best to prepare ourselves for it but nothing does.

As I sit back and reflect on my Father and the lessons he taught me, the memories we shared I cannot help but be proud of the man he was. No man is perfect, it is foolish to strive for such an unattainable feat. The best lessons come from the imperfections, the missteps. My Father did not hide this from me, he knew in order to become a man I needed these lessons, I needed to see where he struggled in order to be strong when faced with similar challenges. He would constantly remind me that his struggles should be my lessons but not my life. I cannot imagine a Father passing some of his lessons along to his son could be easy, but he knew it was necessary.

To my Father growth and strength were the key components to what he felt was the most important thing a man has - his family. Throughout my life he would preach the importance of family and doing the right thing for family. At times this seemed as if it were a burden to me, I did not understand why he constantly put this on me, there were plenty of times where we argued about this but his message stayed consistent, “You do it for family.”

My Father constantly referred to my sister and I as “a team,” something that cannot be broken. Growing up with him and my mother in different households was a challenge, but he would bring it back to the fact that my sister and I were the constants, the ones that were always together and that could not be broken. This too has come with challenges over the years, but through his persistence it has helped us become a strong force where we have combined our 2 families into 1 very large and very tight knit family. When we would meet his friends they would always tell us how proud he was of us and our family situation, how it brought him great pride to see that we are as close as we are.

We live his dream for us.

As with most father-son relationships the bond took off with sports, He passed along his love of the Yankees and Giants to me at a very young age. Countless nights spent complaining about coaching decisions, personnel changes, or simply how lucky we were to root for teams rooted in such success. His love of sport shaped my life to where it is today. His passion became my passion, one that I have given to the young men I have the fortune of leading. We would talk often of “my boys” and how they were doing. I would often spend a lot of time venting about a variety of matters I was struggling with when trying to get through to them. Most of these conversations were one sided, he would patiently wait for me to calm down, or stop, before he’d step in and offer his opinion on the matter.

Nothing brought him greater joy than watching his grandkids grow. There was no detail of their lives he was not curious about. He would watch videos of every at bat, every gymnastics class, every memory that we were able to record and send to him. Even in his last few days I sent him clips of the girls in their last softball game and he simply replied with “they’re special.”

For me, one of my greatest joys in life was telling him Zachary Sol would be born and he would carry my Grandfather’s name with him. I remember the very first time my Father saw Zachary’s name on his birth certificate, I am not sure he even knew he said it loud enough to be heard but he said, “that’s Dad’s name right there.”

Growing up life was not easy. While most of my childhood friends spent their weekends at sleepovers or other events with their friends, my sister and I would travel with our Father to NJ. At the time it seemed like a burden, I’d have rather been with my friends, just like any other child. He never missed a weekend. No matter the situation he would drive up here to pick us up and bring us back to his home in NJ. He’d leave as late as he could Sunday night to get in every last moment he could with us. Nothing was more important to him than the time he spent with us.

As I raise my own young family and watch them become more and more independent as they grow, I now understand why he sacrificed what he did for us.

I’m not sure how to end this, I could go on forever about the memories we had together, from the Yankees Stadium trips, the beach adventures, or working security with him at concerts, shows and events all over the East Coast.

My Father was a fighter, the last 12 years he showed me more courage in his battles to beat back a variety of health ailments and pains that I could never understand. He knew he had so much more to see with his family and his grandkids, fighting was his only option.

I choose to see that he did not lose his battle with his health, but yet he gained the strength to realize that he had done what he set out to do, he left my sister and I with the strength and ability to lead our families. We are capable of this because of him, because of the lessons he taught us.

Now, it’s our turn to pass along the same lessons.

To our friends finding out this way, I do apologize. It is too difficult to call everyone and let them know. As much as my Father hated Zuckerberg (needed a little humor here), he did appreciate the luxury Facebook offered in getting a message out quickly and to large numbers of people.

A funeral service will be held Monday, October 10, 2022 at 1:00 PM at Bloomfield-Cooper Jewish Chapels, 44 Wilson Avenue, Manalapan, New Jersey 07726. For those who wish to attend virtually, the funeral service will be available via Facebook Live (https://fb.me/e/29oahijDR). NOTE: Viewers do not need to have a Facebook account to access the livestream. However, if a viewer attempts to access the link any time before 1:00PM on Sunday, Facebook will prompt the viewer to log in. To avoid this, we ask viewers to wait until the link is live at 1:00PM to access it.

In lieu of flowers, contributions in Bruce's memory may be made to American Diabetes Association (www.diabetes.org).

Fond memories and expressions of sympathy may be shared at www.bloomfieldcoopermanalapan.com for the Lichtenstein family.