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While the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat set to the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, sadly, like no other.

It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the collective temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of mere discontent.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of initial surprise, grief and horror is shifting to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, vigorous government and institutional crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

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

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but little understanding at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because believing in people – in our potential for kindness – has let us down so acutely. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme instances of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative 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 moment of targeted violence.

In keeping with the meaning of Hanukah (light amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the essence of belief.

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

And yet segments of the Australian polity responded so nauseatingly swiftly with division, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from longstanding agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation 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 hope and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were subjected to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that cause death. Of course, both things are true. It’s feasible to at the same time pursue new ways to prevent violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of profound splendor, of pristine azure skies above ocean and shore, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in culture or the natural world.

This weekend many Australians are calling off Christmas party plans. Reflective solitude will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, anger, 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 indicators are that unity in public life and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.