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As the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat set to the soundtrack of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the country’s summer mood seems, unfortunately, like none before.

It would be a significant oversimplification to describe the collective disposition after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of mere discontent.

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

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to reconciling the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

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 animosity and dread of religious and ethnic persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the algorithms keep spewing at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing views but no sense at all of that profound vulnerability.

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

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The selflessness of bystanders. First responders – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid others, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unheralded.

When the police tape still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of community, religious and cultural unity was laudably championed by religious figures. It was a call of love and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the symbolism of Hanukah (illumination amid darkness), there was so much appropriate evocation of the need for lightness.

Unity, light and love was the essence of belief.

‘Our shared community spaces may not look quite the same again.’

And yet elements of the Australian polity reacted so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and recrimination.

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

Witness the dangerous rhetoric of division from longstanding fomenters of societal discord, capitalizing on the attack before the site was even cold. Then read the statements of political figures while the probe was ongoing.

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

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as probable, did such a large public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully inadequate protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and repeatedly warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were subjected to that tired line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not guns that cause death. Naturally, both things are true. It’s feasible to simultaneously seek new ways to stop violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its possible perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense beauty, of pristine blue heavens above ocean and sand, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not seem quite the same again to the multitude who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.

We yearn right now for comprehension and meaning, for family, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in art or nature.

This weekend many Australians are cancelling Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will seem more appropriate.

But this is perhaps somewhat counterintuitive. For in these days of anxiety, outrage, melancholy, bewilderment and loss we need each other now more than ever.

The comfort of community – the binding force of the unity in the very word – is what we probably need most.

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