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While the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and blistering heat set to the background of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like no other.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial surprise, sorrow and terror is segueing to anger and deep division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a time for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely diminished. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic targeting on this continent or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal hot takes of those with inflammatory, divisive views but little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because having faith in people – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such profound examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and paramedics, those who charged into the danger to help fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a call of love and tolerance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, hope and love was the essence of faith.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity reacted so nauseatingly swiftly with fragmentation, blame and recrimination.

Some elected officials moved straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a cynical opportunity to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the harmful rhetoric of division from veteran fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the probe was still active.

Politics has a daunting job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the light and, importantly, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly alerted of the danger of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not weapons that kill. Of course, both things are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of profound beauty, of clear azure skies above sea and sand, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We long right now for comprehension and significance, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or nature.

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

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we require each other now more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the indicators are that cohesion in politics and the community will be elusive this extended, draining summer.