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While the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday across languorous days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic understatement to describe the collective temperament after the antisemitic violent assault on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere ennui.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is segueing to fury and deep division.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of Australian Jews are now highly attuned. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic official fight against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a moment for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in mankind is so sorely diminished. This is particularly so for those of us lucky never to have endured the animosity and fear of religious and ethnic persecution on this continent or anywhere else.

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

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger spiritual belief. I mourn, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s potential for compassion – has let us down so acutely. Something else, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human goodness. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – police officers and paramedics, those who charged into the gunfire to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered wildly all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and cultural solidarity was admirably championed by religious figures. It was a call of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

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

Unity, hope and love was the message of faith.

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

And yet elements of the political landscape responded so disgustingly swiftly with division, blame and accusation.

Some elected officials gravitated straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a calculating opportunity to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the harmful rhetoric of division from veteran agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Government has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and seeking the light and, not least, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as probable, did such a large public Hanukah event go ahead with such a woefully insufficient 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 targeted attacks?

How quickly we were treated to that cliched line (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that cause death. Naturally, each point are valid. It’s possible to simultaneously seek new ways to stop violent bigotry and prevent guns away from its potential perpetrators.

In this city of immense beauty, of pristine azure skies above sea and shore, the water and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve observed that iconic Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific violence.

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in culture or the natural world.

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

But this is perhaps somewhat against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, anger, melancholy, confusion and loss 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 tragically, all of the indicators are that cohesion in public life and society will be elusive this long, enervating summer.