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As the nation settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday across languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like no other.

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

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate surprise, grief and terror is shifting to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely diminished. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and dread of faith-based persecution on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the banal hot takes of those with inflammatory, divisive stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s potential for compassion – has let us down so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who charged into the danger to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous 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 religious figures. It was a message of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid darkness), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, light and love was the message of faith.

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

And yet elements of the political landscape responded so disgustingly swiftly with division, blame and recrimination.

Some politicians moved straight for the darkness, using tragedy as a cynical opportunity to question Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the harmful rhetoric of disunity from longstanding agitators of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the words of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the hope and, not least, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a large public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently warned of the danger of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that cause death. Of course, both things are valid. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its possible actors.

In this city of immense beauty, of pristine azure skies above sea and sand, the ocean and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in art or the natural world.

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

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of anxiety, outrage, sadness, confusion and grief we require each other more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and society will be elusive this extended, draining summer.