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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and blistering heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer atmosphere feels, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tone of initial surprise, sorrow and horror is segueing to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Just as, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official fight 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 especially so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive views but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because having faith in people – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has let us down so acutely. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such profound examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and paramedics, those who charged into the danger to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural unity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

Consistent with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (light amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of belief.

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

And yet elements of the political landscape reacted so disgustingly swiftly with division, blame and accusation.

Some politicians moved straight for the darkness, using the atrocity as a cynical opportunity to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the harmful rhetoric of division from longstanding fomenters of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the massacre before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to uniting 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 open-air Hanukah celebration 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 publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that tired argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Of course, both things are true. It’s possible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and prevent firearms away from its potential actors.

In this city of profound beauty, of clear blue heavens above ocean and shore, the ocean and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in culture 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 days of anxiety, outrage, sadness, bewilderment and loss we require each other now more than ever.

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

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