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As the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood seems, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the national disposition after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate shock, grief and terror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of the Jewish community 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 peacefully protest against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely diminished. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have endured the animosity and dread of faith-based targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a greater faith. I mourn, because believing in people – in our potential for compassion – has let us down so painfully. A different source, something higher, 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. First responders – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to help fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of social, religious and cultural unity was laudably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the message of belief.

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

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

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

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of division from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, exploiting the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of political figures while the probe was still active.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and looking for the hope and, not least, answers to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a significant 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 alerted of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Of course, each point are valid. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense beauty, of pristine azure skies above sea and sand, the water and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of aesthetics in art or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more in order.

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

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

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