TORONTO — On one side of a park in downtown Toronto, three men are snuggled up in tattered sleeping bags with cardboard box beds.

Chris, who is homeless, chats with Alex Cywink, right, of Ve’ahavta during Ve’ahavta’s first Tuesday night shift.    [Rita Poliakov photo]

“Street help,” calls a Ve’ahavta driver as I cower in the background. “We have coffee and sandwiches. Sir? Street help?”

Nobody budges. All three are fast asleep, so we move on.

“Street help,” we call to a bearded man with sky-blue eyes. “Would you like some coffee and sandwiches?”

The man nods, moving slightly on his bench. “Just make your way to the van.”

My eyes slowly shift to his wheelchair.

“I have no legs,” he says.

We promise to bring him some food once we’ve made our way around.

This is an average shift on Ve’ahavta’s Mobile Jewish Response to the Homeless Van (MJRH), although it was the first Tuesday night shift in the program’s history.

Ve’ahavta is a Jewish organization that helps the needy locally and internationally. Its programs range from outreach vans and a homework club based in Toronto’s Regent Park, to helping impoverished communities around the world.

Every Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday morning, Ve’ahavta staff and volunteers deliver food, clothes and hygiene supplies to Toronto’s homeless. Tuesday’s shift, which lasted from 6 p.m. to 12 a.m., was Ve’ahavta’s first solo night run. In the past, they had partnered with a native group for evening patrols.

“Tuesday night is vastly different than Sunday morning. We’re reaching different people in different areas of the city,” said Katie Stemeroff, manager of volunteer programs at Ve’ahavta. “We did a needs assessment and found that there were a lot of people on the street late at night and there wasn’t a lot of presence.”

Alex Cywink, who has worked with Ve’ahavta for three years, emphasized that MJRH isn’t just about handing out food.

“There are no vans that do what we do. [The program] addresses physical and humanitarian [needs.] We’re supportive, we have an accepting attitude,” he said.

The night started off slowly. After packing the van, Cywink told me what to expect, emphasizing the bonus point system.

“You get points if you spot someone before us, and if you make [a client] laugh.”

The first man we served took only a bottle of water and a bagel.

“I could hug you,” he said, smiling broadly at Cywink.

After stopping for a chat and offering some bagels to another man, we left, searching for more clients.

Cywink and the driver were determined to reach as many people as they could, even if it meant bending a few rules. I learned this as we veered onto the sidewalk, through a bike path and under a bridge.

“This [was] a four-bedroom apartment,” Cywink said, pointing to a paved path under the bridge. I thought of all the times I’d complained about the size of my room or my old mattress.

Under another bridge, we found three teens sitting around a crackling fire.

“Do you have any books? I just finished mine,” one asked. After another chat and a look through our box of novels, we were off again.

We searched back alleys, ravines, bridges and wooded area, stopping at a moment’s notice if Cywink spotted a client.

“There’s one!” I yelled, pointing at a bearded man weaving his way through sidewalk traffic.

“Looks like he’s booking it [running away],” our driver said, making a quick U-turn.

Most people just took a cup of coffee and some sandwiches, while others asked for socks, pants or shirts.

“It’s hard finding pants,” said one as he held a pair of black jeans up to his waist.

“I want to find Chris,” the driver demanded halfway through the shift.

Chris, as it turned out, was just about to go to sleep when we found him. Sighing slightly, he followed us to the van, asking if possums were edible.

Like most of the people we served that night, Chris was intelligent, articulate and polite. He talked about the evils of Starbucks as he sipped his coffee. He reminded me of one of my friends, who refused to touch a Starbucks coffee for most of high school.

At a crowded park, we found a balding man walking around aimlessly. His clothes were clean and probably new. A large silver-coloured necklace hung from his neck. He clearly didn’t belong and he looked lost.

“I’ve never slept outside before,” he told us. “Is it safe here?”

When we left, I saw him tearing some cardboard in half for his bed.

While walking through a park, looking for clients, the driver and I started talking about living situations.

“I wouldn’t know where to sleep,” I said, looking around the park. The driver began to explain the difference between the bridge where the teenagers were staying and Chris’ spot under a few trees.

“Chris’s place is cleaner,” the driver said. “It’s his home.”