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As Australia winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer atmosphere feels, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a significant oversimplification to describe the national disposition after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of mere discontent.

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

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic government and institutional crackdown against antisemitism with the right to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely diminished. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep spewing at us the trite instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive views but little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in people – in mankind’s capacity for kindness – has let us down so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is required.

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

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of community, faith-based and cultural solidarity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, light and love was the message of belief.

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

And yet elements of the Australian polity reacted so disgustingly quickly with division, blame and recrimination.

Some elected officials moved straight for the darkness, using tragedy as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the dangerous message of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, capitalizing on the massacre before the site was even cold. Then consider the statements of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and seeking the light and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a significant open-air Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and consistently alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Of course, both things are true. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its possible perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of pristine azure skies above sea and shore, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem 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 understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty 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 somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, confusion and grief we need 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 tragically, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and the community will be hard to find this extended, enervating summer.