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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to describe the national disposition after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of immediate shock, grief and terror is shifting to fury 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 far more urgent, energetic official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have endured the hatred and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with blistering, polarizing stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in people – in our capacity for kindness – has let us down so painfully. A different source, 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 selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the danger to help fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, faith-based and cultural solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Unity, hope and love was the essence of belief.

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

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

Some politicians gravitated straight for the darkness, using tragedy as a calculating opportunity to question Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the harmful message of disunity from veteran fomenters of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the statements of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Government has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and seeking the hope and, not least, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a significant open-air Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Naturally, both things are valid. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential perpetrators.

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

We long right now for comprehension and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in culture or nature.

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

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these days of fear, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that unity in politics and the community will be elusive this long, enervating summer.