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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of beach and blistering heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to characterize the national temperament after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of mere discontent.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial shock, grief and horror is segueing to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed fears of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional crackdown against antisemitism with the right to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have endured the hatred and dread of religious and ethnic targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the trite 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 lament, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the gunfire to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and ethnic unity was laudably championed by faith leaders. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

In keeping with the symbolism of Hanukah (illumination amid gloom), there was so much fitting reference of the need for hope.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of faith.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity reacted so nauseatingly swiftly with fragmentation, blame and recrimination.

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

Witness the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran fomenters of Australian racial division, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the hope and, not least, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the family home when the security agency has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that kill. Of course, each point are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and prevent guns away from its possible perpetrators.

In this city of immense splendor, of pristine azure skies above sea and sand, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We long right now for understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more in order.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these days of anxiety, anger, sadness, bewilderment and loss we need each other now more than ever.

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

But sadly, all of the indicators are that unity in public life and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.