🔗 Share this article

As the nation settles into for a traditional Christmas holiday during slow-moving days of coast and blistering heat set to the background of sporting matches and cicada song, this year the nation's summer mood seems, unfortunately, like no other.

It would be a dramatic oversimplification to characterize the collective disposition after the antisemitic terrorist attack on Jewish Australians during Bondi Hanukah celebrations as one of simple ennui.

Across the country, but nowhere more so than in Sydney – the most postcard picturesque of the nation's urban centers – a tone of immediate shock, sorrow and terror is segueing to fury and bitter polarization.

Those who had not picked up on the often voiced fears of Australian Jews are now acutely aware. Just as, they are sensitive to balancing the need for a far more urgent, energetic official crackdown against anti-Jewish hatred with the freedom to peacefully protest against mass atrocities.

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 fortunate enough never to have experienced the animosity and fear of faith-based persecution on this land or anywhere else.

And yet the social media feeds keep spewing at us the banal instant opinions of those with blistering, divisive views but little understanding at all of that profound fragility.

This is a time when I regret not having a greater spiritual belief. I lament, because believing in humanity – in mankind’s potential for kindness – has let us down so painfully. Something else, something higher, is needed.

And yet from the atrocity of Bondi we have witnessed such profound instances of human decency. The heroism of individuals. The bravery of those present. Emergency personnel – law enforcement and paramedics, those who ran towards the danger to aid fellow humans, some publicly hailed but for the most part unnamed and unheralded.

When the barrier cordon still waved in the wind all about Bondi, the imperative of social, religious and ethnic solidarity was laudably promoted by faith leaders. It was a call of compassion and acceptance – of unifying rather than dividing in a time of antisemitic slaughter.

Consistent with the symbolism of the Festival of Lights (light amid gloom), there was so much fitting reference of the need for lightness.

Unity, hope and love was the essence of faith.

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

And yet segments of the political landscape reacted so nauseatingly quickly with division, blame and recrimination.

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

Observe the harmful rhetoric of division from veteran agitators of Australian racial division, capitalizing on the massacre before the site was even cold. Then consider the words of leadership aspirants while the investigation was still active.

Government has a daunting task to do when it comes to bringing together a nation that is mourning and scared and looking for the light and, not least, explanations to so many uncertainties.

Like why, when the national terrorism threat level was judged as likely, did such a significant public Hanukah event go ahead with such a grossly inadequate security presence? Like how could the alleged killers have multiple firearms in the residence when the domestic intelligence organisation has so publicly and repeatedly alerted of the danger of antisemitic violence?

How rapidly we were treated to that tired argument (or versions of it) that it’s people not guns that cause death. Naturally, both things are true. It’s feasible to at the same time seek new ways to prevent hate-fuelled violence and keep firearms away from its potential actors.

In this city of immense splendor, of clear blue heavens above sea and shore, the ocean and the coastline – our shared community spaces – may not look quite the same again to the many who’ve observed that famous Bondi seems so jarringly out of place with last weekend’s obscene violence.

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

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, anger, melancholy, bewilderment and grief we need each other more than ever.

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

But tragically, all of the indicators are that unity in politics and society will be elusive this long, enervating summer.