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While Australia winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat set to the background of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood feels, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to characterize the national disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate shock, sorrow and horror is segueing to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced concerns of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic government and institutional crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely depleted. 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 anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater faith. I lament, because having faith in people – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so acutely. Something else, something higher, is required.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – police officers and paramedics, those who charged into the danger to help others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a message of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Unity, hope and compassion 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 swiftly with division, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the hope and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as likely, did such a large public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so publicly and consistently alerted of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Of course, each point are valid. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its potential perpetrators.

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

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, 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 feel more appropriate.

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

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that unity in politics and society will be hard to find this extended, draining summer.