Ep 102: The Fog of War and Humanity with Richard Acritelli and guest Renee Pardo P2 on hmTv

In Episode 102 of The Fog of War and Humanity, host Rich Acritelli sits down with Holocaust educator and survivor-descendant Renee Pardo to trace the extraordinary journey of her father, Victor Partardo. From hiding in the mountains of Salonica and surviving brutal labor camps, to daring escapes, clandestine arms-smuggling missions for the nascent state of Israel, and a new life built in America’s garment district and butcher shops, Victor’s story spans continents—and speaks to the resilience of the human spirit. Join us for a deeply personal conversation about memory, betrayal, survival, and the enduring quest for safety and freedom across generations. 

Transcript

Rich Acritelli: Welcome back here to HMTV. I’m your host Rich Acritelli on The Fog of War and Humanity. For our second segment I’m here with my special guest, Renee Pardo, to speak about her experiences—learning about the Holocaust’s impact on her family and on her own life here in America. Renee, we were talking about your family. Can you shed more light on your father and some of his experiences?

Renee Pardo: So, Victor Pardo—no middle name—was born in 1929. By the time he experienced the worst of the Holocaust, he was about eighteen or nineteen. Even before the worst, my Aunt Sarah, who was living in Salonica—a large Sephardic-Jewish community—warned the family of what was coming. She returned there but told her parents and siblings, “When they come, be careful—don’t believe them.” Sure enough, the Germans arrived in Salonica and then in the surrounding villages.

My father’s family scattered into the nearby mountains and hid, pretending to be something they weren’t. From my father’s story—and what my mother later told me—at one point he and one of his brothers were separated from the rest of the family and lying low in the woods. He believed he was about to be shot on sight, because any group found hiding was treated as guerrillas or runaways. To save themselves, he and his brother dropped to their knees and made the sign of the cross—pretending to be Catholic—since the Germans didn’t understand Sephardic names and they carried no papers. Miraculously, they were spared and instead sent to a labor camp.

He stayed there for some time but never spoke in detail about how he escaped. My understanding is that conditions grew so brutal he managed to flee. He then hid again with my uncle, trying to reconnect with his family. At one point a Greek Orthodox priest recognized him as Jewish and turned him and his brother in. Years later, I insisted on returning with him to that region of Greece—a haunting journey for my parents, who could scarcely afford it.

Part of that trip was deeply upsetting—being sixteen and alone with my father was difficult—but much of it was also special. We walked through his old village, Flora, and encountered elderly Greek neighbors. He would embrace them warmly, then quietly curse them afterward for betraying Jews during the war. His bitterness at any betrayal ran deep, rooted in the loss of so many relatives.

While in Greece, we stayed with his friend Yannis Irowanis, a once-wealthy man whose family fortune had been tied up by the church after a broken engagement. Yannis financed our passage from Greece to Israel, helping my father extract some funds. Legend has it my father even bought a herd of cattle—forcing them to drink salt water so they weighed more—and sold them at a profit to fund our trip.

When we finally reached Israel, my father was stunned by how the kibbutzim had evolved into lush, resort-like communities. Before that, he’d spent two years in South America—first Brazil, then Chile—because he couldn’t secure U.S. visas right away. In Brazil, he was approached by members of the Iliaëte, a precursor to Mossad. They recruited survivors who didn’t look stereotypically Jewish to smuggle arms and gather intelligence for the new state. After roughly two years of service, they made good on their promise and helped him immigrate to New York around 1958.

Rich Acritelli: So how did he finally make it to the United States?

Renee Pardo: He arrived in New York in about 1958, speaking no English. He met my mother in Brooklyn, and they married in 1959. His first job, sponsored by relatives in the garment district, was as a presser—paid by piecework. He discovered a faster method, earned too much, and was promptly let go. Leaning on his family’s tradition, he then became a kosher butcher in local supermarkets and later worked as a butcher in Texas. Eventually, he opened a small pizza shop while deciding on his next steps.

He cherished America’s freedom—the ability to start a business, reasonable taxes, and no state persecution. He wasn’t a flag-waver, but he believed this country offered his family the safety and opportunity he’d fought for. Yet he never boasted about it, always fearing another catastrophe unless Israel remained strong.

Rich Acritelli: Was there one thing he particularly cherished about life in America?

Renee Pardo: Absolutely—the entrepreneurial spirit. Here, you could try anything, make your own rules, and no one would come knocking on your door. He loathed being an employee because he refused to take orders. But as a business owner—whether in the garment district, the butcher shop, or the pizza store—he thrived. He demanded privacy, though, because he believed the horrors he survived could happen again.

Rich Acritelli: Renee, thank you so much for sharing your father’s remarkable story on HMTV. We really appreciate your time.

Renee Pardo: Thank you for having me. I’m grateful to honor his memory.