I will never forget that day as long as I live. No mother ever could. The memories of that experience are so vividly printed on my mind that there is no way I could erase them even if I wanted to.

Part of me screams that it was all an ugly nightmare. Another part of me screams just as loudly that it was all very real. It must have been real. It had to be real.

It was the day before the Feast of Passover was to begin. Jerusalem was swarming with people who had come to town for all of the festivities and to fulfill their annual obligation to their faith. I do not know if it was just the number of people but there was a strange mood in the air.

I had not slept much the night before and what rest I did have was not very good. My mind kept saying that this could not be happening to me. I cried and cried. I kept checking the window to see if daylight was coming. I wanted the night to end and at the same time I so dreaded the daylight.

Like so many things in life that you have no control over, daylight forced itself upon me -- ready or not. I dressed quickly and left my home without any breakfast. Hungry I was not. Fearful I was.

It did not take me long to walk from my house to the Fortress Antonio where they held him. I wanted so much just to be with him in his final hours. Oh, it was so hard to deal with the fact that these were his final hours.

My mind kept racing back to so many incidents in his early childhood. What vivid memories I had of things that seemed like they just happened a few days before. Of all my children, he really was my favorite. He seemed to like being with me and doing things for me. He was always so obedient and cheerful.

What went wrong and when? To this day I have no earthly idea. I did not notice an overnight change. It happened so gradually that none of the family nor any of his close friends even recognized what was going on until it was too late to really help him.

Oh, the hours I have spent talking to him. Often I would go to the synagogue to seek the help of the rabbis. Their advice sounded good but never seemed to make any difference. Nothing seemed to make any difference. It was almost like some kind of disease had a hold of him. No matter how many promises he made, he just kept on stealing.

There I was standing outside of his jail wanting to see him, wanting to spend the last hours with him, wanting to just hold him in my arms, wanting the hurt in my heart to stop, wanting this whole nightmare to go away.

Can you believe that the guards at the entrance would not let me in? I kept pleading and begging but they would pay no attention to me. Sometimes they would look over at me and almost sneer as if they were getting some kind of perverted joy out of causing me pain.

Perhaps that waiting outside the fortress was some of the worst of this whole ordeal. I knew I was only a few yards away from my child and yet I could not see him, I could not speak to him, I could not hold him in my arms. Oh, how it hurt. No mother should have to experience that kind of pain.