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As Australia winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and blistering heat accompanied by the background of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the national temperament after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah festivities as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of initial shock, sorrow and terror is shifting to fury and deep polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced fears of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a far more urgent, energetic official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to demonstrate against mass atrocities.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, 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 endured the animosity and dread of faith-based targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive stances but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I regret not having a stronger faith. I lament, because having faith in people – in our capacity for compassion – has let us down so painfully. A different source, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such profound instances of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – police officers and paramedics, those who charged into the gunfire to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, faith-based and cultural solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a time of targeted violence.

Consistent with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid gloom), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, light and love was the message of belief.

‘Our public places may not look exactly as they did again.’

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

Some politicians moved straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a calculating opportunity to question Australia’s migration rules.

Observe the harmful message of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the statements of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is grieving and frightened and looking for the hope and, importantly, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as likely, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the family home when the security agency has so openly and repeatedly alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Of course, both things are valid. It’s feasible to at the same time pursue new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and keep guns away from its potential actors.

In this city of profound beauty, of clear azure skies above ocean and shore, the ocean and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We long right now for comprehension and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics 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 somewhat counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, anger, melancholy, confusion and grief we require each other more than ever.

The reassurance 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 unity in politics and society will be elusive this long, draining summer.