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As the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday across slow-moving days of beach and scorching heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer mood feels, sadly, like none before.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the national disposition after the anti-Jewish violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Throughout the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of Australian cities – a tenor of initial shock, grief and horror is segueing to anger and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the frequently expressed fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, energetic government and institutional fight against antisemitism with the right to demonstrate against genocide.

If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our faith in mankind 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 persecution on this continent or elsewhere.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the trite hot takes of those with blistering, polarizing stances but little understanding at all of that profound fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a stronger faith. I mourn, because believing in people – in our 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 profound examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to help others, 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 ethnic solidarity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of love and acceptance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.

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 public places may not appear quite the same again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape responded so disgustingly quickly with fragmentation, finger-pointing and accusation.

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

Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, exploiting the massacre before the site was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was ongoing.

Government has a formidable job to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and frightened and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many questions.

Like why, when the official terror alert was judged as likely, did such a large public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a grossly insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so openly and repeatedly warned of the danger of targeted attacks?

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

In this city of profound beauty, of clear azure skies above ocean and sand, the ocean and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not seem entirely familiar again to the many who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so incongruous with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of beauty in culture or the natural world.

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

But this is perhaps counterintuitively counterintuitive. For in these times of fear, anger, melancholy, confusion and grief we need each other now 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 indicators are that cohesion in public life and the community will be elusive this extended, enervating summer.