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While Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer atmosphere feels, unfortunately, like no other.

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

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of initial shock, sorrow and terror is shifting to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed fears of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely diminished. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and fear of faith-based persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because having faith in people – in mankind’s potential for compassion – has let us down so painfully. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of community, religious 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 moment of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the meaning of Hanukah (illumination amid gloom), there was so much fitting reference of the need for hope.

Unity, light and compassion was the essence of faith.

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

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

Some politicians gravitated straight for the darkness, using tragedy as a cynical chance to question Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the harmful rhetoric of disunity from veteran fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is grieving and frightened and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a significant public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly alerted of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that kill. Of course, each point are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its possible perpetrators.

In this city of immense beauty, of clear blue heavens above sea and sand, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific violence.

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

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

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, bewilderment and loss we require each other now more than ever.

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

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