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While the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to characterize the national temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of immediate surprise, grief and horror is segueing to fury and bitter division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but no sense at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has let us down so acutely. A different source, something higher, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the gunfire to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and ethnic unity was admirably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Unity, light and love was the message of belief.

‘Our public places may not appear exactly as they did again.’

And yet elements of the Australian polity reacted so disgustingly swiftly with division, finger-pointing and accusation.

Some elected officials moved straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a calculating chance to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the words of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is grieving and scared and seeking the light and, importantly, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a significant public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently warned of the danger of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Naturally, both things are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its possible actors.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of pristine azure skies above sea and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in culture or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively counterintuitive. For in these days of fear, anger, sadness, bewilderment and grief we require each other more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that unity in public life and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.