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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of initial shock, grief and horror is shifting to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred 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 deeply diminished. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic targeting on this continent or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because having faith in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for kindness – has let us down so painfully. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of social, faith-based and ethnic unity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of love and tolerance – of unifying rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of belief.

‘Our public places may not look exactly as they did again.’

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

Some politicians gravitated straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a cynical chance to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the harmful rhetoric of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the hope and, importantly, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully inadequate protection? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the family home when the security agency has so openly and repeatedly warned of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that cliched line (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons 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 keep firearms away from its possible actors.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above ocean and shore, the water and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not look entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We yearn right now for understanding and significance, for family, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in art or nature.

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

But this is perhaps counterintuitively counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

The reassurance of community – the human glue of the unity in the very word – is what we probably need most.

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