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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and blistering heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the national temperament after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of the nation's urban centers – a tone of initial shock, grief and terror is shifting to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent 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 little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s potential for compassion – has failed us so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of community, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a call 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 darkness), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for hope.

Unity, hope and love was the essence of faith.

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

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

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

Witness the dangerous message of disunity from veteran fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the statements of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and seeking the hope and, importantly, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a large public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched line (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Naturally, each point are true. It’s feasible to at the same time pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential actors.

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

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

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Reflective solitude will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, melancholy, confusion and grief we require each other more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and the community will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.