I must have been about 10 years old the day I kicked the best field goal of my life. The ball sailed over the backstop, over the chain link fence at the top of the hill, and right through our next-door neighbor's window.

I dutifully set off down the driveway and up the street, composing the speech I planned to give: "I'm so sorry. I had no idea I could kick the ball that far. I never imagined it would break your window. From now on my friends and I will play at the park so it won't happen again."

I watched the anger melt away on my neighbor's face before my heartfelt mea culpa. "Nothing to worry about," he said, his face breaking into a smile. "It was an honest accident, and I accept your apology. Now off you go back to your game. Oh, and here's your ball."

Actually, that's not what happened. For one thing, my neighbor wasn't home. For another, something quite obviously would have been missing. That's right: paying for the window.

Indeed, forgiveness is one of the most exalted qualities of a noble heart. Yet despite having demonstrated absolute contrition, the final step required for me to complete the process of repentance is this week's addition to the Ethical Lexicon:

Atonement (a*tone*ment/ uh-tohn-muhnt) noun

Reparation for a wrong or injury.

No matter how genuine our remorse and sincere our commitment to do better, we still need to repair the damage we've caused. Only then can we be truly absolved.

The word itself traces back to the medieval Latin adunamentum, meaning "unity" and earlier still to onement, derived from the verb for "unite." Both imply reconciliation with another person or restored union with the Master of all. Either way, apology alone is not enough.

Paying for a new window is simple. But with more intangible kinds of damage — feelings hurt through carelessness or callousness, trust lost due to dishonesty or betrayal — a more complex equation is required to calculate the price of atonement.

Indeed, the ancient Hebrew word for atonement — kaparah — translates also as "ransom." Figuratively, and sometimes literally, we need to buy back the closeness we have forfeited, not with money but with the transformation of our deeds to evidence the rehabilitation of our souls.

The battered wife, the betrayed husband, the mistreated child, the exploited worker, the falsely convicted inmate, the disenfranchised citizen — all of these have legitimate grievances against their oppressors. The pain of their trauma endures long after the passing of their travails. Real forgiveness may seem unattainable, even in the face of undeniable repentance.

It falls to the tormentor, therefore, to proceed systematically: first, by stopping the behavior; second, by demonstrating remorse; third, by offering verbal confession; and, finally, by implementing a plan for positive change. Only when our victims see that we've taken responsibility for changing ourselves will they consider meeting us halfway.

This is the process outlined by the sages in preparation for Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. Even the Almighty cannot forgive our violations against family, friends and neighbors until we have made every attempt to appease them. The effort we invest in clearing the slate, balancing our accounts and seeking a new beginning is the ransom of our souls.

It's how we secure peace in our homes. It's also how we promote and preserve a civil society.

You don't have to be without sin to cast the first stone. But you do need to acknowledge when the stones you throw contribute to a culture of malignant dysfunction. Yom Kippur reminds us to accept accountability for our own conduct before we point fingers at others. By seeking atonement for ourselves, we might inspire others to follow our example.

We will never appease zealots blinded by their own ideology. But we must refuse to let them control the narrative. Our future depends on us moderating our tone to reclaim the rational center. Our children's future waits for us to find a way forward together.

See more by Yonason Goldson and features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists; visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Ricardo Moura at Unsplash