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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and blistering heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to characterize the national disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

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

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to balancing the need for a far more urgent, energetic official crackdown against antisemitism with the right to peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so deeply depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the hatred and fear of faith-based targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, divisive stances but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

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

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. First responders – police officers and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to help fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and ethnic unity was admirably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of belief.

‘Our shared community spaces may not appear exactly as they did again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape responded so disgustingly swiftly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and recrimination.

Some elected officials gravitated straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a cynical opportunity to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of division from longstanding agitators of societal discord, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and looking for the light and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a large open-air Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Naturally, both things are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and prevent firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense beauty, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and sand, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long 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. Reflective solitude will feel more in order.

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

The comfort of togetherness – the binding force 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.