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As the nation settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during languorous days of beach and blistering heat set to the background of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the nation's summer mood seems, sadly, like no other.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the national temperament after the anti-Jewish terrorist attack on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple discontent.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most iconically beautiful of the nation's urban centers – a tenor of immediate shock, grief and horror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a far more urgent, energetic official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a countrywide dialogue, it is now, when our faith in humanity is so deeply depleted. This is especially so for those of us fortunate enough never to have experienced the hatred and fear of faith-based targeting on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with inflammatory, polarizing stances but no sense at all of that terrifying fragility.

This is a period when I lament not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in our capacity for kindness – has failed us so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such profound instances of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still waved wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, faith-based and cultural solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a message of compassion and tolerance – of bringing together rather than splitting apart in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Togetherness, light and love was the message of faith.

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

And yet segments of the political landscape reacted so nauseatingly swiftly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and accusation.

Some elected officials moved straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a cynical chance to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the dangerous message of disunity from veteran agitators 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 ongoing.

Politics has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and seeking the light and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the family home when the security agency has so openly and consistently alerted of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched argument (or iterations of it) that it’s people not weapons that kill. Naturally, both things are true. It’s possible to simultaneously pursue new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep guns away from its potential actors.

In this city of immense splendor, of pristine azure skies above sea and sand, the water and the beaches – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We long right now for comprehension and meaning, for family, 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 seem more in order.

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of fear, outrage, sadness, confusion and loss we require each other now more than ever.

The comfort of togetherness – 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 politics and society will be hard to find this long, draining summer.