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While the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and blistering heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood seems, sadly, like no other.

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

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of immediate surprise, sorrow and terror is shifting to anger and bitter division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against antisemitism with the freedom to peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so deeply depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and dread of faith-based targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a stronger spiritual belief. I mourn, because having faith in people – in our potential for compassion – has failed us so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such profound 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 help fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment 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 love was the message of faith.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity responded so disgustingly swiftly with division, finger-pointing and recrimination.

Some politicians moved straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a cynical chance to challenge Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is grieving and frightened and seeking the hope and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a significant open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Of course, each point are valid. It’s possible to at the same time seek new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

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

We yearn right now for understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, anger, sadness, confusion and loss we need each other now more than ever.

The comfort 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 unity in politics and the community will be hard to find this long, draining summer.