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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of beach and blistering heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant oversimplification to describe the national temperament after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, grief and horror is segueing to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional crackdown against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so deeply diminished. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and fear of faith-based targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, divisive stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I mourn, because having faith in people – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, faith-based and cultural unity was admirably championed by religious figures. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

In keeping with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of faith.

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

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

Some politicians gravitated straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the dangerous message of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Government has a daunting job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and seeking the light and, importantly, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that kill. Naturally, both things are valid. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and sand, the water 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 violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will seem more in order.

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

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

But tragically, all of the indicators are that unity in politics and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.