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As Australia settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and blistering heat accompanied by the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere feels, sadly, like no other.

It would be a significant oversimplification to describe the national temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tenor of initial shock, grief and horror is shifting to anger and deep division.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so sorely diminished. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and dread of faith-based targeting on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a time when I lament not having a stronger faith. I lament, because believing in people – in mankind’s capacity for kindness – has let us down so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such profound examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the danger to help others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of social, religious and ethnic unity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the meaning of Hanukah (illumination amid darkness), there was so much fitting reference of the need for lightness.

Unity, hope and compassion was the essence of faith.

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

And yet segments of the political landscape responded so disgustingly swiftly with division, finger-pointing and accusation.

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

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and seeking the light and, importantly, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the security agency has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired line (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s possible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of pristine blue heavens above sea and shore, the ocean and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not look entirely familiar again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene violence.

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

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will feel more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, bewilderment and grief we need each other 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 unity in politics and the community will be hard to find this extended, enervating summer.