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While the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of simple discontent.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tone of initial surprise, grief and terror is segueing to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official fight against antisemitism with the right to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a time 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 continent or anywhere else.

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

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because having faith in people – in our capacity for kindness – has let us down so painfully. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such profound examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, faith-based and cultural solidarity was admirably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of love and tolerance – of unifying rather than dividing in a time of targeted violence.

Consistent with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid darkness), there was so much appropriate reference of the need for lightness.

Unity, light and compassion was the message of belief.

‘Our public places may not appear exactly as they did again.’

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

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

Witness the dangerous message of division from longstanding agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the hope and, importantly, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a significant open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly inadequate protection? 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 targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Naturally, both things are valid. It’s possible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its possible actors.

In this city of profound beauty, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We yearn right now for understanding and significance, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in culture or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more appropriate.

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

The reassurance 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 cohesion in public life and society will be elusive this long, enervating summer.