It is disappointing that the distinguished authors of this thoughtful letter repeat some of the same misconceptions which led our colleagues and us to write our original letter. On behalf of our colleagues, and with thanks for their suggestions, let us offer a brief response:

We did not assert that the frescoes themselves reflect the cultural pluralism of Central Europe. Rather, we wrote, "The work of Bruno Schulz, after all, reminds us that this region was long one of unique cultural richness and diversity; an effort by any single group to monopolize his memory erases this history of pluralism." Let us recall who worked to erase that pluralism: the Nazis, of course, and also the Communists. Both regimes have been vanquished, at least in Central Europe, and one cannot recreate what was lost. But one can do better than to enter after those two regimes have thoroughly looted the memory closet, in order to scoop up any overlooked remainders.

Placed in Yad Vashem, the frescoes will of course speak to us of radical evil, just as many objects of art around the world could be exhibited within a specific moral context. Placed properly in Drohobych, they would speak much more powerfully: not only of, again, the lost, dimly remembered world of a rich and diverse culture, but also of a noble effort to bridge the chasms separating us from that past, and from societies left behind in the cold war's wake. Those interested in Schulz's work should remember that Schulz was above all a writer—perhaps the greatest short-story writer in Polish. Nearly all his work is set in Drohobych; is it not the best homage to him to salvage some part of the world he loved, in situ? We repeat our suggestion that Yad Vashem could do much better by building partnerships in Central Europe. In this case, Yad Vashem might have helped to improve the physical condition and maintenance of the frescoes; and since some of them remain in Drohobych, it could still do so.

Apelfeld et al. make no mention of communism, so let's be clear: that Schulz was forgotten for over fifty years was thanks to a regime that appropriated cultural symbols as it saw fit, and suppressed those traditions that were inconvenient; indeed, there was no translation of Schulz's work in Ukraine until 1995. We can agree about the deplorable state of Drohobych, and perhaps the whole of Ukraine, therefore. But surely the time has long past when yet another load of Elgin marbles could be carted off to civilization. All over the world, museums are reevaluating their collecting practices, and are sometimes returning works of art long ago looted from private collections or entire communities. This is not the time to embark on a new wave of predatory collecting.

Finally, the suggestion that Drohobych's mayor made a wise move, recognizing that his city could do little else, is irrelevant. Surely the authors are aware that to remove priceless artifacts from a country one needs rather more than the OK of the mayor; for a start, Yad Vashem might have obtained permission from Ukraine's Ministry of Culture. Nor was Drohobych helpless. Many towns and cities in Central Europe have done far better in recovering and reassessing their pasts. Drohobych could do so too, were it not for this effort to wrest Schulz and his work out of any context but one.