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As Australia winds down for a customary Christmas holiday across languorous days of coast and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere feels, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the collective disposition after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of initial surprise, grief and horror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced 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 crackdown 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 faith in humanity is so deeply diminished. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and fear of faith-based persecution on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the trite instant opinions of those with blistering, polarizing stances but little understanding at all of that terrifying vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater faith. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in our potential for kindness – has let us down so painfully. A different source, something higher, is needed.

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 paramedics, those who charged into the gunfire to help fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of social, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a call of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, light and compassion was the essence of faith.

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

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

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

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from longstanding agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of political figures while the probe 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 light and, importantly, explanations to so many questions.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was assessed as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly insufficient security presence? 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 danger of targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that kill. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its possible perpetrators.

In this metropolis of profound splendor, of clear azure skies above sea and shore, the water and the beaches – our shared community spaces – may not seem quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We long right now for understanding and significance, for family, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are calling off holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will seem more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these days of fear, outrage, sadness, confusion 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 tragically, all of the portents are that unity in public life and society will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.