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While Australia settles into for a customary Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the collective disposition after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of initial surprise, sorrow and horror is shifting to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official fight against antisemitism with the freedom to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our belief in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the hatred and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing 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 believing in humanity – in our potential for kindness – has failed us so acutely. Something else, something higher, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such profound instances of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – police officers and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of social, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was admirably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the essence of belief.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity responded so disgustingly quickly with division, finger-pointing and accusation.

Some politicians moved straight for the darkness, using tragedy as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the harmful message of disunity from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a daunting job to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is grieving and scared and looking for the light and, importantly, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as likely, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the security agency has so openly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Of course, both things are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep firearms away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of clear blue heavens above ocean and shore, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in art or the natural world.

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 fear, outrage, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other now more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the indicators are that cohesion in public life and society will be elusive this long, draining summer.