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While the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the soundtrack of sporting matches and insect sounds, this year the country’s summer mood seems, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to describe the national temperament after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of simple discontent.

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

Those who had previously missed the frequently expressed concerns of the Jewish community are now highly attuned. Similarly, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous government and institutional 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 mankind is so deeply diminished. This is especially so for those of us lucky never to have endured the hatred and fear of faith-based targeting on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive stances but little understanding 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 our capacity for compassion – has let us down so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is required.

And yet from the horror of Bondi we have seen such extreme instances of human decency. The courageous acts of ordinary people. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and medical staff, those who charged into the gunfire to aid fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part anonymous and unsung.

When the barrier cordon still fluttered wildly all about Bondi, the necessity of social, religious and ethnic unity was laudably promoted by religious figures. It was a call of love and tolerance – of bringing together rather than dividing in a time of targeted violence.

Consistent with the meaning of the Festival of Lights (light amid darkness), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for hope.

Unity, hope and love was the message of belief.

‘Our shared community spaces may not look exactly as they did again.’

And yet segments of the political landscape responded so disgustingly swiftly with division, finger-pointing and recrimination.

Some elected officials moved straight for the pessimism, using tragedy as a calculating opportunity to question Australia’s immigration policies.

Observe the dangerous message of division from longstanding agitators of societal discord, exploiting the attack before the crime scene was even cold. Then read the words of leadership aspirants while the probe was still active.

Politics has a daunting 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 uncertainties.

Like why, when the official terror alert was assessed as probable, did such a large open-air Hanukah celebration 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 publicly and consistently warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?

How quickly we were subjected to that tired argument (or iterations of it) that it’s individuals not guns that kill. Of course, both things are valid. It’s possible to at the same time seek new ways to stop violent bigotry and keep firearms away from its possible perpetrators.

In this metropolis of immense splendor, of clear blue heavens above sea and sand, the water and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not look entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve noted that iconic Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene violence.

We yearn right now for understanding and meaning, for loved ones, and perhaps for the consolation of beauty in culture or nature.

This weekend many Australians are calling off Christmas party plans. Quiet contemplation will feel more in order.

But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these times of anxiety, outrage, melancholy, confusion and grief we require each other now more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the portents are that cohesion in public life and the community will be hard to find this long, enervating summer.