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As the nation winds down for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and blistering heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood seems, unfortunately, like none before.

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

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial shock, sorrow and horror is shifting to anger and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced concerns of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Just as, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional fight against anti-Jewish hatred 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 sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal hot takes of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a stronger spiritual belief. I lament, because having faith in humanity – in our potential for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the police tape still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of compassion 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 gloom), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and compassion was the essence of belief.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity reacted so nauseatingly swiftly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and accusation.

Some elected officials gravitated straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a cynical chance to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the dangerous message of disunity from longstanding fomenters of Australian racial division, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as likely, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate protection? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that tired line (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Naturally, each point are true. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of pristine blue heavens above sea and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – 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 obscene bloodshed.

We yearn right now for comprehension and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in culture or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Reflective solitude will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, outrage, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the indicators are that cohesion in politics and society will be hard to find this long, draining summer.