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As Australia winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to characterize the collective disposition after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is shifting to fury and bitter division.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment 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 endured the hatred and dread of faith-based targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal hot takes of those with inflammatory, divisive stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in humanity – in our capacity for compassion – has let us down so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such profound examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the gunfire to help fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

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

In keeping with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (light amid darkness), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, hope and love was the message of faith.

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

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

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

Observe the dangerous message of division from longstanding agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and seeking the hope and, importantly, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so openly and consistently warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched line (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Of course, both things are valid. It’s possible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its potential actors.

In this city of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above sea and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

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

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these days of anxiety, anger, sadness, bewilderment and grief 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 portents are that unity in public life and the community will be hard to find this extended, enervating summer.