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While the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to characterize the national temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of simple discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial shock, sorrow and horror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, energetic official fight against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so deeply diminished. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the hatred and fear of faith-based persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive views but little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a greater faith. I mourn, because believing in people – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so painfully. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of love and tolerance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

In keeping with the symbolism of Hanukah (illumination amid gloom), there was so much fitting reference of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of belief.

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

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

Some politicians gravitated straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a calculating opportunity to question Australia’s migration rules.

Witness the harmful rhetoric of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the light and, not least, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a significant open-air Hanukah celebration 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 publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were subjected to that tired line (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Of course, each point are true. It’s feasible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and prevent guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense beauty, of clear azure skies above ocean and sand, the water and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We long right now for comprehension and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in culture or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Reflective solitude will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these days of anxiety, outrage, sadness, bewilderment 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 probably need most.

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