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As the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and blistering heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood feels, unfortunately, like no other.

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

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, grief and horror is segueing to anger and deep polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so deeply depleted. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have endured the animosity and dread of faith-based persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive views but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

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

And yet from the atrocity 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 help others, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of community, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and love was the essence of faith.

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

And yet elements of the political landscape responded so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, blame and accusation.

Some politicians moved straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s migration rules.

Witness the dangerous rhetoric of division from veteran fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the probe was still active.

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

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently alerted of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired line (or iterations of it) that it’s people not guns that kill. Of course, each point are valid. It’s possible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of clear blue heavens above sea and sand, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

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

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

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

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

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