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While the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and blistering heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood feels, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the national disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of initial shock, sorrow and horror is segueing to anger and bitter division.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official fight against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the animosity and fear of faith-based 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 stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a time when I lament not having a greater faith. I lament, because having faith in humanity – in our potential for compassion – has failed us so acutely. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of social, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the meaning of Hanukah (light amid gloom), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of belief.

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

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

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

Witness the dangerous message of disunity from veteran fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of political figures while the investigation was still active.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and seeking the light and, importantly, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a significant public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and consistently 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 guns that cause death. Naturally, each point are true. It’s feasible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above sea and shore, the ocean and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and significance, for family, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in culture or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more appropriate.

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

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

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