A Shpy always has to have hope even when it looks hopeless, which reminds me of the time when Feivel and I were cleaning our Menorahs for Chanukah.

“Chanukah is my favorite holiday,” Feivel said.

“That’s nice,” I said.

“Along with TuB’Shvat and Lag B’Omer....”

“I like those too,” I agreed.

“And Pesach, and Shavuos, and Sukkos, and Shemini Atzeres!” Feivel enthused.

“Those are your favorite, too?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “And don’t forget Purim. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it reminds me of Chanukah! I really like Chanukah, along with TuB’Shvat and Lag B’Omer, and Pesach, and Shavuos, and Sukkos…”

Ding dong. Ding dong!

“Is that the door?” Feivel asked.

“No,” I shaid. “It’s my shuper-shmall-buttonhole-shize-mini-Shpy-shell-phone with a doorbell ring.... Hello, Hello,” I shaid.

“Shpy!” It was Agent 613. “You know that many people use olive oil to light their Menorahs…”

“Do you need me to squeeze the olives?” I guessed.

“No I need you to find them!” CLICK! He hung up.

“We’ll be right there!” I shaid. “Come on Feivel! We’re going to Ollie’s!”

“Ollie’s?”

“Yes. Ollie’s Olive Orchard and Oil Company.”

Before you could shay “Ness Gadol Haya Shom,” the Shpycopter landed neatly right in front of the factory. There was Ollie himshelf to greet us at the front door.

“Welcome Shpy! You’re just in time!” he said. “A new load of olives has just arrived.”

Outshide, large trucks were dumping loads of olives into collector chutes for processing.

“Looks good to me,” I shaid.

“Come inside,” Ollie answered.

Inshide nothing was happening. The conveyor belts weren’t moving. Only a few drops of oil trickled out of the pipes into the bottles!

“You see, Shpy. Olives arrive, and go through the squeezers, and centrifuges, but no oil comes out!” Ollie moaned. “I hope you can get to the bottom of this!”

“Let’s start here,” I shaid. “We’ll work our way up to the top!” Ollie, Feivel and I began tracing the oil pipes all around the processing plant, up and down, over and under, around and around. Finally, we came to the big bin where the olives first come into the building.

“What’s this?” I ashked, pointing to a pipe coming off the bin.

“Hmmm. I don’t know,” Ollie replied. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Let’s shee where it goes,” I shaid. We followed the pipe down a passage, up a flight of shteps, down another hall, around to the right, down a staircase, down another corrridor, to a door at the end of shome shteps.

“Knock! Knock!” I knocked.

“Who’s there?” an angry voice growled.

“Wire,” I answered.

“Wire who?” the voice asked.

“Wire you shtealing olives?” I shaid.

Shuddenly, the door swung open. There shtood one of the YH’s henchman! “Shpy!” he cried out.

I jumped toward him, but he had olive oil all over himself and just shlipped out of my arms. The floor was alsho shlick with oil, and we shlipped and shlid all over, Bangity, Bump! Bump! Bump! as he disappeared.

By the time we got back on our feet, he was gone, and so was another load of olives!

“Oy vey!” Ollie moaned. “Without olives, we can’t make olive oil, and without olive oil, people can’t light their Menorahs!”

“That’s the pits!” Feivel said.

“That’s it, Feivel. Come on. Back to the Shpycopter!”

“Where to now, Shpy?”

“Where there are olives, there are pits, Feivel. We ‘re going to find them!”

We jumped into the Shpycopter and flew up into the sky, making wide circles around Ollie’s Olive Orchard.

POP! POP! CLANG! PING! CLANG! POP!

“Shpy!” Feivel cried. “Bullets! Some’s shooting at us!”

“No, Feivel,” I replied. “Ity’s not bullets. It’s olive pits! And you know where they’re coming from.”

“The YH?”

“Right. I was looking for piles of pits which would lead us to him. I guess he found us first!”

BANG! WZZZZ! POP! WZZZZ! CLANG! Olive pits whizzed by the Shpycopter. BING! BING! BING! BING!

“Feivel, it’s a direct hit! We’re going down!” I cried, “We’ll have to make an emergency landing!”

As we landed, 20 YH henchmen surrounded the Shpycopter. “Welcome Shpy!” A familiar voice announced on a loudspeaker. “I knew you’d be here before long.
BANG! WZZZZ! POP! WZZZZ! CLANG! Olive pits whizzed by the Shpycopter. “Feivel, it’s a direct hit! We’re going down!”

But that’s ok, because not even you can save the olive oil now!”

“Wow, YH,” I shaid enthusiastically. “Looks like you’ve set up some fancy operation here.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it, Shpy,” the YH replied. “Yes, first, we unload the olives, then we clean them with an ultra high pressure water spray. Then they go through the rapid-fire pit-remover machine. It spits out the pits non-stop. You and Feivel already know about it!”

“We do,” I admitted. “Go on.”

“After that, we crush them to get pure olive oil…”

“But where do you bottle it?” Feivel asked.

“We don’t,” the YH said. Then he pointed to a massive drilling rig and said, “Most drilling rigs pull oil out of the ground. This one puts oil back in. Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“You mean you’re storing olive oil underground?”

“Correct, Shpy!” the YH said. “Where no one can get at it, not even you!”

“That’s what you think,” I yelled.

“Talk is cheap, Shpy, you can’t do anything now.”

“Who says?” I cried, running toward the high pressure water hose. The YH looked at me and laughed. “HA! HA! HA! Want to spray me Shpy? Go on! Get me wet! I don’t care!”

“Who said anything about you?” I shot back. I grabbed the hose, pushed the barrel into the ground, and squeezed the high-pressure nozzle with all my might. Water whooshed out, gushing into the ground. The YH stood there without moving, like he was in shock. Shoon, the ground began to grumble, rumble, and shake.

“What’s going on?” the YH asked. “What is this?”

“When you mix oil and water, oil always comes out on top,” I shouted, “just like the Jewish people!” But the YH never heard me. There was a huge “KAWHOOSSSH!” and a giant gush of olive oil that lifted him and his henchmen way up high into the sky.

“AAAYYEEEEeeEEEEEEEEE” they screamed as they disappeared in the distance!

Feivel and I capped the gusher, then we ran to the Shpycopter, fixed the bent blade, and flew back to Ollie’s orchard just in time for the holiday.

Like I always shay, oil’s well that ends well!

Happy Chanukah!
from
The Shpy