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While the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat set to the background of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the collective disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of initial shock, sorrow and terror is segueing to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, 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 belief in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep spewing at us the banal instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive views but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because believing in people – in mankind’s potential for compassion – has let us down so painfully. Something else, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such profound instances of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of community, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by faith leaders. It was a message of compassion and tolerance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

In keeping with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation 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 responded so nauseatingly quickly with fragmentation, blame and accusation.

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

Observe the harmful rhetoric of division from longstanding fomenters of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

Government has a daunting job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the light and, not least, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly insufficient 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 alerted of the danger of targeted attacks?

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

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and sand, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long right now for comprehension and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in art or nature.

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

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of fear, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we require each other now more than ever.

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

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