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While Australia settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to characterize the collective disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial shock, grief and terror is shifting to fury and bitter division.

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 reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic government and institutional fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with inflammatory, divisive views but little understanding at all of that profound fragility.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because believing in humanity – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such profound instances 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 gunfire to help others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of social, religious and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a call of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

In keeping with the meaning of Hanukah (illumination amid darkness), there was so much appropriate reference of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, light and love was the essence of belief.

‘Our public places may not look exactly as they did again.’

And yet elements of the political landscape reacted so nauseatingly quickly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and accusation.

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

Observe the dangerous message of division from veteran fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a significant open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

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

In this city of immense beauty, of pristine azure skies above ocean and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or the natural world.

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

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

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

But tragically, all of the indicators are that cohesion in politics and society will be hard to find this extended, enervating summer.