Monday night’s Tel Aviv derby was never going to be just another football match. Not in this city, not between these teams and certainly not on a day like yesterday.

Hours before kick-off, the body of Ran Gvili, the last remaining hostage who was taken by Hamas on October 7, 2023, was returned to Israel. With that, a grim and painful milestone was reached: for the first time since 2014, there are no Israeli hostages – living or dead – being held in Gaza. It was a moment that carried both relief and unbearable sadness. Closure, of a sort, but not comfort. An ending to a chapter that none of us ever wanted written.

That weight followed us into Bloomfield Stadium.

During the pre-game ceremony, when Maccabi announcer Shai Sidi mentioned Gvili’s return, something rare, but also familiar over the course of the last two years, happened. Maccabi Tel Aviv fans and Hapoel Tel Aviv fans – sworn enemies in any normal circumstances – stood together and applauded. Yellow and red, shoulder to shoulder. The applause wasn’t celebratory, but rather respectful, heavy and exhausted. It held grief and relief in equal measure. For a brief moment, rivalry disappeared, replaced by the shared understanding that some things are bigger than football.

That moment mattered. And then, inevitably, football took over.

Once the match began, the derby returned to its familiar chaos. In typical fashion, both sets of supporters lit flares from opposite ends of the stadium. Hapoel’s end escalated things further, launching fireworks into the night sky. The result was a ten-minute delay – a spectacle that was as frustrating as it was predictable. It was also, in its own twisted way, a reminder of how deeply this rivalry runs. Even on a night loaded with national emotion, neither side was prepared to be quiet.

When the ball finally started moving, Maccabi looked like the more composed side. In the 32nd minute, captain Dor Peretz finished a well-worked move, sending the ball into the back of the net from a precise cross by Helio Varela. It was a goal that felt earned and controlled, giving the Yellows a deserved 1–0 lead at halftime. From the stands, it felt like Maccabi had the match where they wanted it: not spectacular, but managed.

But derbies don’t care about control; they care about moments.

As the second half wore on, the tension built. Hapoel pushed and Maccabi resisted, while the clock ticked toward what felt like an inevitable Maccabi victory. Then came injury time, the most cruel and dramatic space football occupies.

First, substitute Omri Altman rose to meet a cross and headed in the equalizer. Behind the goals, the Hapoel fans erupted. Before anyone could properly process what had just happened, Hapoel struck again on the very last play of the match, with Chico Alves scored the winner, sealing a 2–1 victory for the Reds and their first Tel Aviv derby win since 2014.

For Maccabi supporters, it was devastating. For Hapoel supporters, it was everything, celebrating in the stadium for long after the final whistle blew.

And here’s the honest truth: even as a Maccabi fan, it was impossible not to feel the electricity of that moment. To watch Hapoel players sprint toward their fans, to see an entire stand explode in disbelief and, for the Hapoel fans, joy after more than a decade of waiting, that’s football at its purest. It’s painful when you’re on the wrong side of it, yes, but undeniably powerful. Credit where it’s due – congratulations to Hapoel and to their coach, Elyaniv Barda, especially after the heartbreak they had suffered just two weeks earlier, losing dramatically to Maccabi in a penalty shootout in the State Cup.

The night, however, wasn’t done dealing out consequences.

In the press conference after the match, Maccabi coach Žarko Lazetic faced a barrage of aggressive, at times hostile, questions. Watching it, it was hard not to feel sympathy. Results matter though, especially at a club like Maccabi which has suffered historical losses this season both in Europe and at home, but football can be ruthless. By the following morning, Lazetic – who only last season guided the Yellows to a League Championship – was out, his dismissal officially announced. Another chapter closed, abruptly, as football so often does.

And yet, walking away from the stadium on Monday night, my overriding feeling wasn’t just about tactics, goals or managerial decisions. It was about perspective.

We are living through heavy times. War has reshaped our daily lives, our conversations, and our emotional bandwidth. The return of Ran Gvili’s body felt like the end of a chapter – not because the pain is gone, but because a long, agonizing uncertainty has finally resolved into something painfully final. That kind of national weight doesn’t disappear when the referee blows his whistle.

And that’s why football matters. Not because it distracts us from reality, but because it gives us a place to release what reality builds up inside us. Ninety minutes where joy, anger, heartbreak, hope and belonging are allowed to exist loudly and without apology. A space where strangers sing together, argue together and sometimes – just sometimes – stand together in silence and applause.

Last night had all of it: unity and division, beauty and ugliness, triumph and despair. I’ll remember the flares, the goals and the shock at full-time. But I’ll also remember that moment before kick-off, when yellow and red clapped as one.

With everything going on in our lives, that escape – flawed, chaotic and emotional – is something I will continue to cherish. Football doesn’t solve our problems, but on nights like Monday, it reminds us why feeling still matters. Right now, that’s no small thing.