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As Australia settles into for a customary Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the national disposition after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of simple discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of immediate surprise, grief and terror is shifting to fury and bitter division.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in mankind is so deeply depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and dread of faith-based targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, divisive views but no sense at all of that profound fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because having faith in humanity – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the gunfire to help others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of community, religious and ethnic unity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of faith.

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

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

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

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from veteran fomenters of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of political figures while the investigation was still active.

Government has a formidable task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the hope and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a significant open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched line (or iterations of it) that it’s people not guns that cause death. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above sea and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene violence.

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

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, confusion and grief we need each other now more than ever.

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

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