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As Australia settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer atmosphere seems, unfortunately, like none before.

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

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of initial surprise, sorrow and terror is segueing to anger and bitter polarization.

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

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so deeply diminished. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and dread of faith-based persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

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 terrifying fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a greater faith. I lament, because having faith in people – in mankind’s potential for compassion – has let us down so painfully. Something else, something higher, is required.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – police officers and medical staff, those who charged into the gunfire to help others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, faith-based and cultural unity was admirably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

In keeping with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (illumination amid darkness), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for lightness.

Togetherness, hope and compassion was the message of faith.

‘Our public places may not appear quite the same again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape responded so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, blame and accusation.

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

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

Government 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 uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully inadequate security presence? Like how could the accused attackers have multiple firearms in the residence when the security agency has so publicly and consistently warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were subjected to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Naturally, each point are true. It’s possible to simultaneously pursue new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and prevent guns away from its possible perpetrators.

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

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 holiday gathering plans. Reflective solitude will feel more in order.

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

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

But tragically, all of the indicators are that unity in politics and the community will be elusive this long, enervating summer.