As the nation winds down for a traditional Christmas holiday across languorous days of coast and scorching heat accompanied by the background of Test cricket and cicada song, this year the nation's summer atmosphere feels, sadly, like no other.
It would be a significant oversimplification to characterize the collective disposition after the antisemitic violent assault on Australian Jews during the beachside Hanukah celebrations as one of mere ennui.
Across the country, but especially than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of immediate surprise, sorrow and horror is segueing to fury and deep division.
Those who had previously missed the often voiced fears of the Jewish community are now acutely aware. Similarly, they are attuned to balancing the need for a much more immediate, vigorous official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the right to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.
If ever there was a time for a national listening, it is now, when our belief in humanity is so sorely depleted. This is particularly so for those of us fortunate enough never to have endured the animosity and fear of faith-based persecution on this continent or elsewhere.
And yet the algorithms keep churning out at us the banal instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive stances but no sense at all of that terrifying vulnerability.
This is a time when I lament not having a greater faith. I mourn, because having faith in humanity – in our potential for kindness – has let us down so acutely. A different source, a greater power, is needed.
And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such profound examples of human goodness. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. First responders – police officers and medical staff, those who charged into the danger to help fellow humans, some recognised but for the most part unnamed and unsung.
When the barrier cordon still fluttered in the wind all about Bondi, the necessity of social, faith-based and ethnic unity was admirably promoted by faith leaders. It was a message of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a moment of targeted violence.
In keeping with the symbolism of Hanukah (illumination amid gloom), there was so much fitting evocation of the need for lightness.
Unity, hope and love was the essence of faith.
‘Our public places may not appear exactly as they did again.’
And yet elements of the political landscape reacted so disgustingly swiftly with division, blame and recrimination.
Some elected officials moved straight for the pessimism, using the atrocity as a calculating chance to challenge Australia’s immigration policies.
Observe the dangerous rhetoric of disunity from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the massacre before the crime scene was even cold. Then consider the words of political figures while the investigation was ongoing.
Government has a formidable task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is grieving and frightened and looking for the light and, not least, answers to so many questions.
Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a large public Hanukah celebration go ahead with such a woefully insufficient protection? Like how could the alleged killers have six guns in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and consistently warned of the threat of antisemitic violence?
How quickly we were treated to that cliched line (or versions of it) that it’s individuals not weapons that kill. Of course, both things are true. It’s possible to simultaneously seek new ways to prevent violent bigotry and prevent firearms away from its possible perpetrators.
In this metropolis of immense beauty, of clear azure skies above sea and shore, the water and the coastline – our communal areas – may not look entirely familiar again to the multitude who’ve noted that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s horrific bloodshed.
We yearn right now for understanding and significance, for loved ones, and perhaps for the solace of aesthetics in art or nature.
This weekend many Australians are calling off Christmas party plans. Reflective solitude will seem more in order.
But this is perhaps counterintuitively against instinct. For in these days of fear, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we require each other more than ever.
The reassurance of community – the human glue of the unity in the very word – is what we probably need most.
But tragically, all of the indicators are that cohesion in politics and the community will be hard to find this long, draining summer.
Lena Hoffmann is a seasoned journalist with a passion for uncovering stories that matter, specializing in German current affairs and digital media trends.
