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As the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood feels, unfortunately, like no other.

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

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of initial shock, 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 attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic official fight against antisemitism with the right to peacefully protest against genocide.

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

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, divisive stances but little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because having faith in people – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so painfully. A different source, something higher, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to help others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of community, religious and cultural solidarity was admirably championed by religious figures. It was a call of love and tolerance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of belief.

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

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

Some elected officials moved straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of division from longstanding fomenters of Australian racial division, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was still active.

Government has a daunting job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a large public 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 openly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

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

In this city of profound beauty, of pristine azure skies above ocean and shore, the ocean and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not look entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We yearn right now for comprehension and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in art or the natural world.

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 days of fear, anger, sadness, confusion and grief we require each other now more than ever.

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

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