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While the nation settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday across languorous days of beach and blistering heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to describe the national disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is segueing to fury and bitter division.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic official crackdown against antisemitism with the right to peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the banal hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing stances but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for kindness – has failed us so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such profound instances of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the gunfire to help fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of social, religious and ethnic solidarity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of faith.

‘Our shared community spaces may not look exactly as they did again.’

And yet elements of the political landscape reacted so nauseatingly swiftly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

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

Government has a formidable task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and frightened and seeking the light and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so openly and repeatedly alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were treated to that cliched line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s possible to simultaneously seek new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its possible actors.

In this city of immense beauty, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and sand, the water and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We long right now for understanding and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in art 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 days of anxiety, anger, sadness, bewilderment and loss we require each other more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the indicators are that unity in politics and the community will be elusive this long, draining summer.