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As Australia winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and scorching heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the collective disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi 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 initial surprise, grief and horror is segueing to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Just as, they are attuned to balancing the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

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

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal hot takes of those with blistering, divisive stances but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in people – in our potential for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human goodness. 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 aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of community, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a message of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (light amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and compassion was the essence of belief.

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

And yet elements of the Australian polity responded so disgustingly swiftly with fragmentation, blame and accusation.

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

Observe the harmful message of disunity from longstanding agitators of societal discord, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then consider the statements of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and seeking the hope and, not least, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly alerted of the danger of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched line (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Of course, each point are valid. It’s possible to simultaneously seek new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and prevent firearms away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of pristine azure skies above ocean and sand, the water and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in art or nature.

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

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these days of fear, outrage, sadness, bewilderment and loss we require each other more than ever.

The comfort of community – the human glue of the unity in the very word – is what we likely need most.

But tragically, all of the indicators are that cohesion in public life and society will be hard to find this long, draining summer.