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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the national disposition after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of simple discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate surprise, sorrow and horror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our belief in mankind is so sorely diminished. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the hatred and dread of faith-based targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep spewing at us the banal instant opinions of those with blistering, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that profound fragility.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater faith. I lament, because believing in humanity – in our capacity for compassion – has failed us so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – police officers and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to help fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the police tape still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of social, faith-based and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a message of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of belief.

‘Our shared community spaces may not appear exactly as they did again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape responded so nauseatingly quickly with division, blame and accusation.

Some politicians moved straight for the darkness, using the atrocity as a calculating chance to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the harmful rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the hope and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a large open-air Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly insufficient security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the security agency has so openly and consistently warned of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were subjected to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Of course, each point are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of profound beauty, of pristine azure skies above ocean and sand, the ocean and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We long 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. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these times of fear, anger, sadness, bewilderment and loss we require each other now more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the indicators are that unity in public life and the community will be elusive this extended, draining summer.