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As Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, sadly, like none before.

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

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of the nation's urban centers – a tone of initial surprise, sorrow and horror is segueing to fury and bitter division.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced fears of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the freedom to peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so deeply depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a greater spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has let us down so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural solidarity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a message of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the essence of faith.

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

And yet elements of the Australian polity reacted so disgustingly quickly with division, blame and accusation.

Some politicians gravitated straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the dangerous message of division from longstanding agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the words of political figures while the investigation was still active.

Government has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the light and, not least, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a significant public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and consistently alerted of the danger of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were subjected to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Naturally, each point are true. It’s possible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of pristine azure skies above sea and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will feel more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these days of anxiety, outrage, melancholy, confusion and grief we need 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 sadly, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and the community will be hard to find this extended, draining summer.