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While the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday across languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like no other.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the national temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple 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 surprise, grief and terror is shifting to fury and deep division.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely diminished. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and dread of faith-based persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

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

This is a time when I lament not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because believing in people – in our potential for compassion – has let us down so painfully. A different source, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural unity was admirably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, light and love was the message of faith.

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

And yet elements of the political landscape responded so nauseatingly quickly with division, blame and recrimination.

Some elected officials moved straight for the darkness, using tragedy as a cynical chance to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from longstanding agitators of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the statements of political figures while the investigation was still active.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a significant public 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 security agency has so openly and consistently alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that kill. Naturally, both things are true. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its possible perpetrators.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of clear blue heavens above sea and shore, the water and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not look entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We long right now for comprehension and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in art or the natural world.

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

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, outrage, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other now more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the indicators are that cohesion in public life and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.