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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a significant understatement to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere ennui.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of immediate surprise, sorrow and terror is segueing to fury and deep polarization.

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

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have endured the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a greater faith. I mourn, because believing in people – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the police tape still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

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

Unity, light and love was the essence of faith.

‘Our shared community spaces may not look quite the same again.’

And yet elements of the political landscape reacted so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

Observe the harmful rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then read the words of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and seeking the light and, not least, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert 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 residence when the security agency has so publicly and consistently alerted of the threat of antisemitic violence?

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

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of pristine blue heavens above sea and sand, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

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

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

But this is perhaps counterintuitively counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, confusion and grief we require each other more than ever.

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

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