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As Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat set to the background of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to characterize the national disposition after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of simple ennui.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of initial surprise, sorrow and terror is shifting to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the hatred and fear of faith-based persecution on this land or anywhere else.

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

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I mourn, because having faith in people – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – police officers and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to help others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural unity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the essence of belief.

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

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

Some elected officials gravitated straight for the darkness, using the atrocity as a cynical chance to question Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the harmful message of disunity from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the investigation was still active.

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

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so publicly and consistently warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not guns that cause death. Of course, each point are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and prevent firearms away from its possible perpetrators.

In this city of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above sea and sand, the water and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar 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 comprehension and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in art or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, bewilderment and loss we need each other more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and the community will be hard to find this extended, enervating summer.