I know the sex offender's name.
I also know his face, his build, his tattoos, his crimes. They are all bits of data on his rap sheet, available on the web so neighbors like me can be aware of the local child molester.
The man, who lives around the corner from me, did unspeakable things to boys and girls. From what I've read about such criminals, his kind cannot be rehabilitated.
Still, he did his prison time and now he's allowed to live among law-abiding people. People like my little girl.
New Jersey statute says I cannot do anything about this man. In my head, I have carried out an idea or two. You cannot arrest a person for what he thinks. But if you knew what I've been contemplating, you might at least want to detain me.
Realistically, I do what I can. I never let my daughter walk alone in the neighborhood. And because I have memorized the man's face and ink, I watch for him every second of every minute of every day we are on the sidewalk.
Parents of older kids say dangers such as the predator are easy to defend against. Wait till she's communicating on the web, out driving with other kids, making her tentative way in the world. A daughter's existence is rife with danger. I get that.
But I can only worry about what's in front of me now. And this guy is in my head and in my face.
Now, don't get me wrong: I won't break the social compact; I won't start any ruckus.
Still, I stay vigilant as a security officer at the Tel Aviv airport. I am police-dog ready.
I don't want to bite.
But I will.