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As the nation settles into for a customary Christmas holiday across languorous days of beach and blistering heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the collective temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during the beachside Hanukah festivities as one of simple ennui.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of Australian cities – a tone of initial shock, grief and terror is segueing to fury and deep division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed concerns of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are attuned to reconciling 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 countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so deeply depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and dread of religious and ethnic targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal hot takes of those with blistering, divisive stances but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has failed us so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such extreme examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who ran towards the gunfire to aid others, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of social, faith-based and ethnic solidarity was admirably promoted by religious figures. It was a message of love and tolerance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

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

Togetherness, hope and love was the essence of belief.

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

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

Some politicians moved straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a cynical opportunity to challenge Australia’s migration rules.

Witness the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran fomenters of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was ongoing.

Politics has a formidable task to do when it comes to uniting a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the hope and, importantly, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level 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 repeatedly alerted of the threat of targeted attacks?

How rapidly we were subjected to that cliched line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that cause death. Naturally, both things are true. It’s possible to at the same time seek new ways to stop hate-fuelled violence and prevent firearms away from its possible perpetrators.

In this city of profound splendor, of pristine azure skies above ocean and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We long right now for understanding and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or nature.

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

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, outrage, melancholy, 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 sadly, all of the portents are that cohesion in public life and the community will be elusive this long, draining summer.