The Power of Showing Up: Lessons from Dads’ Football

I’ve spent the past year, together with another volunteer and the support of a staff member at Maccabi GB, organising a “Dad’s football” competition. From the abusive messages (some in jest, some less so), to the complaints from my own team about squad selection, to debacles of red cards, quarter‑final draws, and more, this has been an experience not for the faint‑hearted. But it has also been one of the greatest things I’ve had the opportunity to organise, and I’ve had an immense amount of pleasure doing it.

Since January, more than 350 dads have been playing regular 90‑minute, 11‑a‑side football matches. The social, physical and mental health benefits of regular sport have been written about extensively, and this competition has been no different. A “mums’ netball” group has now been started up too. It’s all very friendly (for the most part) and has given hundreds of people the chance to get back into sport when school and family life might otherwise have made it impractical.

Doing all of this voluntarily has sometimes felt like a second full‑time job, but it has also been eye‑opening. Because when you step back from the WhatsApp arguments about match dates, the VAR‑level debates about offsides and dangerous challenges, you realise something quite remarkable: this is what community looks like. Not the polished, brochure‑ready version, but the real thing – messy, noisy, occasionally infuriating, and absolutely essential.

And in a year where the world has felt increasingly fractured, where headlines have been dominated by conflict, polarisation, and the sense that societies everywhere are struggling to hold together, I’ve found something quietly powerful in organising hundreds of dads to chase a ball around a pitch. It’s reminded me that cohesion doesn’t begin in parliaments or international summits. It begins in small, local acts of connection. It begins with people showing up for each other.

As antisemitism has continued to dominate the UK Jewish community’s vernacular, doing something that brings Jews together in pride rather than fear has been something I’ve revelled in. And it isn’t possible without the volunteers who make it happen. The dads who organise the league, manage their teams, or simply turn up to play. This week is National Volunteers’ Week in the UK, which feels like the perfect moment to celebrate them.

A line from Pirkei Avot has echoed in my mind throughout this project: Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor, v’lo atah ben chorin l’hibatel mimena, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” I used to think of that as a grand statement about repairing the world. But this year, I’ve come to understand that it applies just as much to the everyday work of building community. None of us can fix the world alone. But each of us can take responsibility for our corner of it.

For me, one of those corners happened to be on various football pitches around North and East London.

And what I’ve seen there is something increasingly rare: people who disagree, who come from different places, send their kids to different schools, who have different levels of fitness and would never otherwise have met, all choosing to participate in something bigger than themselves. Choosing to commit. Choosing to care. Choosing to belong.

Jewish life has always been built on that principle. We are a people who gather. We gather for minyan, for meals, for learning, for celebration, for mourning. We show up. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it’s complicated. Even when someone was definitely offside and refuses to admit it.

In a world that often feels defined by what pulls us apart, these small acts of togetherness matter. They are not trivial. They are not distractions. They are the antidote.

If 350 dads can find common ground on a cold evening in London, then maybe there is hope for the rest of us too. Maybe the work of repairing the world starts with repairing our own sense of belonging. Maybe, in a year when global events have reminded us how fragile societies can be, the most radical thing we can do is keep showing up for one another.

I am proud to be a small part of building this community, one dads’ football match at a time. Next year will be bigger and better. But it is on all of us to build the community we want. Whether by organising something or simply showing up, whatever you can do will make a difference.