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While the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood feels, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to characterize the national temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, grief and horror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so deeply depleted. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the animosity and fear of faith-based targeting on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive views but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a greater spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in people – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so painfully. A different source, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. First responders – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by faith leaders. It was a message of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, hope and love was the essence of belief.

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

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

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

Observe the harmful message of division from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the words 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 mourning and scared and looking for the hope 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 inadequate security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have six guns in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and consistently warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that tired argument (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Of course, each point are true. It’s feasible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep guns away from its possible actors.

In this city of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above ocean and shore, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more appropriate.

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

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that cohesion in politics and the community will be hard to find this long, draining summer.