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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer atmosphere feels, sadly, like no other.

It would be a significant understatement to describe the collective disposition after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of mere ennui.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate surprise, sorrow and terror is shifting to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against antisemitism with the right to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the hatred and dread of faith-based persecution on this continent or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive stances but little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a greater spiritual belief. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has let us down so acutely. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a message of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, light and love was the message of faith.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity responded so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and recrimination.

Some elected officials moved straight for the darkness, using the atrocity as a calculating opportunity to question Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the light and, importantly, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the residence when the security agency has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were subjected to that tired line (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 pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its possible actors.

In this metropolis of profound beauty, of pristine azure skies above sea and sand, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We long right now for comprehension and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in art or the natural world.

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 days of anxiety, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

The reassurance of community – the human glue of the unity in the very word – is what we likely need most.

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