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As Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and blistering heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the national disposition after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is segueing to anger and bitter division.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, energetic official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so deeply depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and dread of faith-based persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with blistering, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a stronger faith. I lament, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so acutely. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to help fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and ethnic unity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Unity, light and compassion was the message of belief.

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

And yet segments of the political landscape reacted so disgustingly quickly with division, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

Observe the harmful rhetoric of division from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and looking for the light and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as likely, did such a large open-air Hanukah event 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 openly and repeatedly alerted of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Of course, each point are true. It’s possible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of immense beauty, of clear 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 observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

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 calling off Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these days of fear, outrage, melancholy, bewilderment and loss we need each other more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and society will be elusive this extended, draining summer.