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While Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday across languorous days of coast and scorching heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of initial shock, grief and horror is shifting to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced concerns of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic official 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 humanity is so deeply depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic targeting on this continent or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive stances but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a greater spiritual belief. I lament, because having faith in people – in our capacity for compassion – has failed us so acutely. Something else, something higher, is required.

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 charged into the danger to help others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and ethnic unity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a time of targeted violence.

In keeping with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid darkness), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and love was the message of belief.

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

And yet elements of the political landscape responded so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, blame and accusation.

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

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

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the light and, not least, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the security agency has so openly and consistently warned of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that kill. Naturally, both things are true. It’s possible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of profound beauty, of clear azure skies above ocean and sand, the ocean and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these days of fear, outrage, melancholy, confusion and grief we require each other more than ever.

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

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