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As Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer atmosphere feels, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a significant understatement to characterize the national disposition after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is shifting to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

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

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal 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 stronger faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for kindness – has let us down so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of community, faith-based and ethnic unity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (light amid darkness), there was so much fitting reference of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and love was the essence of faith.

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

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

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

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from longstanding agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

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

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully insufficient security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so openly and repeatedly alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Of course, each point are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its possible actors.

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

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will feel more appropriate.

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

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

But sadly, all of the portents are that cohesion in public life and the community will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.