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

It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the national temperament after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of simple discontent.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate shock, grief and terror is segueing to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Just as, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, energetic official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

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

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater spiritual belief. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, something higher, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who charged into the danger to help others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of social, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was admirably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

Consistent with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (light amid darkness), there was so much appropriate reference of the need for lightness.

Unity, hope and love was the message of faith.

‘Our shared community spaces may not look quite the same again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape reacted so disgustingly quickly with division, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

Witness the harmful message of division from longstanding agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

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

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a significant 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 domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly warned of the danger of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Of course, both things are valid. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its possible actors.

In this city of profound splendor, of clear blue heavens above ocean and shore, the water 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 horrific violence.

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

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will seem more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these days of anxiety, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and loss we require each other more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that unity in public life and the community will be hard to find this long, enervating summer.