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As Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like no other.

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

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of initial shock, sorrow and terror is shifting to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a far more urgent, vigorous government and institutional fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so deeply diminished. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have experienced the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic targeting on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal instant opinions of those with inflammatory, divisive views but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater faith. I lament, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has failed us so acutely. A different source, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and cultural solidarity was laudably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

Consistent with the meaning of Hanukah (illumination amid gloom), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for hope.

Togetherness, light and love was the essence of faith.

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

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

Some elected officials gravitated straight for the darkness, using the atrocity as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from longstanding fomenters of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the investigation was still active.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the hope and, importantly, explanations 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 multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so publicly and repeatedly alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Naturally, each point are true. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of profound beauty, of clear azure skies above ocean and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene bloodshed.

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

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

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these days of fear, outrage, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we require each other more than ever.

The reassurance of community – the binding force 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 the community will be elusive this long, draining summer.