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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood feels, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the collective temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of mere discontent.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is shifting to fury and deep division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely diminished. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the hatred and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying 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 compassion – has failed us so acutely. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the danger to help others, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and ethnic solidarity was admirably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

In keeping with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (light amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of faith.

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

And yet elements of the Australian polity responded so nauseatingly quickly with fragmentation, blame and accusation.

Some elected officials gravitated straight for the darkness, using the atrocity as a calculating chance to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Witness the dangerous message of disunity from longstanding agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the massacre before the site was even cold. Then consider the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and seeking the light and, not least, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and consistently alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Naturally, both things are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential actors.

In this city of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above sea and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not seem entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

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

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these days of anxiety, outrage, sadness, confusion and loss 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 sadly, all of the portents are that unity in public life and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.