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– repentance - is a key element in the process of forgiveness, and the bulk of our work on these High Holy Days. We strip our souls bare in the attempt to find our essence, our best selves. We acknowledge and admit our errors. If we are sincere, we experience remorse. We resolve to mend our ways. We make amends if we can. And we confess. Real teshuvah engages the intellect, the heart, the body and the soul.

The confessions that we intone on these Days of Awe allow us to enumerate the reasons for our teshuvah. Imagine, if you will, an archer’s target. In every thing we do, in all of our interactions with others, and all of other miscellaneous behaviors, we strive to aim for the bulls-eye. We aim to do the right thing. But often, we miss. Usually we miss on accident, or from carelessness, or laziness; sometimes we miss on purpose, but often as not, for whatever reason, we miss the mark. Our aim proves untrue. That’s a chet. That’s what we need teshuvah for.

Our liturgy for the High Holy Days tells us that there are essentially two types of chet. "For sins between humanity and God," we read, "the Day of Atonement atones. But for sins between human beings, the Day of Atonement does not atone, until they have made peace with one another."

You might think, therefore, that there are also two kinds of forgiveness. But in reality there are three – two kinds of forgiveness for sins between humans, and the third to repair our relationship with the Divine.

In rabbinic thought, only the offending party can set the wrong aright, and only the offended party can forgo the debt of the sin. If I offend someone, it is my responsibility to do whatever it takes to set matters right. Conversely, if someone has offended me, it is my responsibility to allow the offender to repent.

The most basic sort of human-to-human forgiveness is called mechila. In classical Jewish thought, when an offender’s teshuvah is sincere, when he or she has made every effort to make amends, and no longer engages in the offensive behavior, it is incumbent upon the victim to offer mechila. The crime may remain, but the debt is forgiven.

The second kind of human-to-human forgiveness is selicha. Selicha is reaching a deeper understanding of the sinner, and finding empathy for the sufferings of the other. It is the fundamental acceptance of the human frailty of the offender.

"Forgiveness," write Dr. Sidney B. and Suzanne Simon, "is the gift at the end of the healing process…Forgiveness happens within; it is a feeling of wellness… and acceptance." It is a release from "the desire to punish the people who hurt us," to make them suffer as we have suffered. It is the acknowledgement that we can never really "even the score." Forgiveness is the inner peace we gain when we cut ourselves loose from the burden of being unforgiving.

A woman abused by a man, or a victim of rape or incest, may never reach this level of forgiveness; he or she is not obliged, nor is it morally necessary for her, or him, to do so. But when forgiveness isn't forthcoming from the person who caused the harm, you still have to forgive yourself. Ultimately, the one most harmed by unexamined hurt is the one who's holding on to it. Jewish teaching is clear: one is not obligated to extend forgiveness to one who has not done teshuvah. But the fact that one is not always obligated to forgive clearly does not mean that there are no great benefits to forgiving.

It used to be a custom, during the month of Elul, the month that precedes these High Holy Days, that Jews would line up at a grave to ask forgiveness of the deceased. Illogical! We know that the dead cannot forgive. But there is a lesson in this practice: Time is too precious and too short to harbor grudges.

And what if time does run out? What if the person from whom we need forgiveness dies before we take the opportunity to ask? In such a case, the sin stays with you. But it may still be possible to reflect on the life of the individual and its lessons. And it behooves the one who is unforgiven to "pay it forward;" to strive to better his or her relationships with others, and not to make the same kind of errors.

This third kind of forgiveness is "atonement" (kappará) or "purification" (tahorá). It is a total wiping away of all sinfulness; an existential cleansing. Kappara is the ultimate form of forgiveness, but it is only granted by God. No human can "atone" the sin of another; no human can "purify" the spiritual pollution of another.

The author Noah ben Shea teaches: "Our ability to be other-forgiving requires us to be self-forgiving. This first-stage healing is neither vertical nor horizontal, but an inner journey…Take the inner path to self-forgiveness, which allows you access to the horizontal path of other-forgiving, which leads you vertically to Divine forgiveness."

As the last sounds of the shofar fade, we imagine ourselves receiving a fresh start, a clean slate with which to begin the new year, with our names inscribed in the "Book of Life" – at least until next Elul. But spending the day in the synagogue, fasting and praying are not enough. If God can accept our repentance and forgive us, then we, who strive to be God-like, must accept the repentance of others, and extend forgiveness to those who have hurt us. This, writes Dr. David Blumenthal, is the great Jewish "Yes" to the possibility of repentance for every sinner.

Our sages taught that the Holy Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of baseless hatred. We learn that it will only be rebuilt by an abundance of love for no reason. If we stand always on pride and do not reach out for forgiveness, no one will ever be given the opportunity to make amends. So even if a person does not deserve to be forgiven, forgive anyway. If everyone did that, what a world it would be.