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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of coast and blistering heat set to the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood feels, unfortunately, like none before.

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

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate shock, grief and horror is shifting to anger and bitter division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous government and institutional fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so deeply diminished. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have endured the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this land or anywhere else.

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

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because believing in people – in mankind’s capacity for kindness – has let us down so painfully. A different source, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of community, faith-based and cultural solidarity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Unity, hope and love was the message of faith.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity responded so disgustingly quickly with division, blame and recrimination.

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

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from veteran fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the light and, importantly, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a significant open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and consistently alerted of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched line (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of pristine blue heavens above sea and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

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

This weekend many Australians are calling off Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these days of anxiety, anger, sadness, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

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

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