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As the nation settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of coast and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, sadly, like no other.

It would be a significant oversimplification to describe the collective disposition after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tone of immediate shock, grief and terror is shifting to anger and bitter division.

Those who had previously missed the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional crackdown against antisemitism with the right to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in mankind is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the hatred and dread of faith-based targeting on this land or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal hot takes of those with inflammatory, polarizing views but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a period when I lament not having a greater faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in mankind’s capacity for compassion – has let us down so acutely. Something else, something higher, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme examples of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – police officers and medical staff, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, faith-based and ethnic unity was laudably championed by faith leaders. It was a call of love and acceptance – of bringing together 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 lightness.

Unity, light and love was the essence of belief.

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

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

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

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of division from veteran fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the statements of political figures while the probe was still active.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and seeking the hope and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the family home when the security agency has so openly and repeatedly warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were subjected to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that cause death. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s feasible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its potential actors.

In this metropolis of profound beauty, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in culture or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling holiday gathering plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more appropriate.

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

The comfort of togetherness – the human glue of the unity in the very word – is what we likely need most.

But sadly, all of the portents are that unity in public life and the community will be hard to find this long, draining summer.