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While Australia winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the background of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the national disposition after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial shock, grief and terror is shifting to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the right to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have endured the animosity and fear of faith-based persecution on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep spewing at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, divisive stances but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a greater faith. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has failed us so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to help others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and ethnic unity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

Consistent with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid darkness), there was so much fitting reference of the need for hope.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of faith.

‘Our public places may not appear quite the same again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape reacted so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and accusation.

Some politicians moved straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a cynical chance to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the dangerous message of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the light and, importantly, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so openly and consistently alerted of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not guns that kill. Of course, each point are true. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and prevent firearms away from its possible actors.

In this city of profound splendor, of pristine blue heavens above sea and shore, the ocean and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in culture or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will feel more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these days of anxiety, anger, sadness, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

The comfort of togetherness – the binding force of the unity in the very word – is what we probably need most.

But tragically, all of the indicators are that unity in politics and the community will be hard to find this long, draining summer.