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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and blistering heat set to the soundtrack of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to characterize the national temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews 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 tone of immediate surprise, grief and terror is shifting to anger and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a time 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 endured the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic targeting on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing 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 regret not having a greater faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in our capacity for kindness – has let us down so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the danger to help others, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the police tape still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was admirably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of compassion and tolerance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

In keeping with the symbolism of Hanukah (light amid gloom), there was so much appropriate reference of the need for hope.

Unity, hope and love was the essence of faith.

‘Our shared community spaces may not appear quite the same again.’

And yet elements of the Australian polity responded so disgustingly 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 migration rules.

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics 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 questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully insufficient 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 antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Naturally, both things are true. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of immense beauty, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and shore, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, bewilderment and loss 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 public life and the community will be elusive this long, draining summer.