This book is so important, that it was a simple and obvious choice for the National Library’s permanent exhibition, where the most precious spiritual and cultural treasures in our collections are displayed. The volume is a copy of one of the first printed editions of the Zohar from 1557. The Hebrew word zohar, meaning “radiance,” reflects the profound spiritual light attributed to this ancient mystical text.
The Zohar is shrouded in mystery, with countless legends woven around it over the years. Written in an enigmatic style, it conveys deep spiritual ideas. The earliest printed editions of the Zohar gathered its scattered texts—previously preserved in numerous manuscripts—into book form, adding to their historical significance.

This specific volume is part of one of the two first Italian editions of the Zohar printed in the 16th century. It comes from the Mantua edition, divided into three volumes. Several copies of this edition are preserved in the Library as part of the impressive Valmadonna Collection, which contains early Hebrew printed works from Italy.
What sets this particular copy apart? We’ll begin with the most obvious details, before revealing the decades-old mystery solved at the very last minute, just before the book’s secret was nearly lost forever…
The layers revealed within the pages of this volume reflect the various transformations experienced by the Jewish People over time. The copy selected for display is the section relating to the biblical Book of Exodus, containing original handwritten annotations by Italian scholars from the 16th century. Prof. Isaiah Tishby [a renowned Kabbalah scholar, recipient of the Israel Prize, and Prof. Gershom Scholem’s first student—Y.A.] attributed the handwritten notes to two rabbis from late 16th- and early 17th-century Italy: Rabbi Moses Zacuto and his student, Rabbi Benjamin Ha-Kohen. Zacuto, a descendant of Portuguese anusim (crypto-Jews), had settled in the Netherlands before relocating to Italy, where he served as the rabbi of the Mantua community.
The fact that this book passed from teacher to student adds a unique dimension to the volume, highlighting the deep respect between them. This teacher-student collaboration also distinguishes this volume from the others, which typically feature handwritten annotations by only a single scholar.

This volume also bears traces of censorship by the Catholic Church. For example, the word “Edom,” often a veiled reference to Christianity in such texts, has been erased.

The Catholic Church began censoring Jewish texts in the mid-16th century, following the Protestant Reformation. This particular book was censored by Alessandro Scipione, whose name appears prominently in the book, alongside the date of the censorship, 1597. A search of international databases confirmed that Scipione was indeed a Catholic censor active in the late 16th century.

Inside the front cover of the book, another clue to its unique journey was revealed: a sticker bearing the inscription, “Jewish Cultural Reconstruction.”

This sticker indicates that the book was rescued as part of a project to recover Jewish books looted by the Nazis. These books, at one point considered lost forever, were found and brought to Israel shortly after World War II. The book’s title page also bears a stamp from the Jewish Community Library in Berlin, hinting at its prewar life.
***
Like many old books, this volume was in poor condition. The binding was worn and falling apart, and stains covered its pages. Before it could be displayed, it required comprehensive treatment to protect it from further damage and ensure its preservation for future generations.
The task was entrusted to Shifi Rathaus, a conservator in the Library’s Conservation Department. What Rathaus didn’t know when she began working on the book was that its cover held yet another secret.
***
One of the first questions Rathaus faced was whether to replace the book’s binding, a complex decision with significant implications. Generally, efforts are made to preserve the original binding, especially if it is authentic. However, in this case, several indications suggested that the binding was not original and had been replaced at a later stage. This conclusion was supported by the style of the binding, the handwriting on the title page that had been partially cut by a guillotine trimmer, and the red edge coloring applied to the trimmed pages, a common practice in later rebinding efforts.

Moreover, the binding was in such poor condition that it could no longer perform its basic function: holding the quires (bundles of pages) together. Attempting to open the book risked its complete disintegration.
After consulting with her department head, it was decided to replace the binding. Rathaus began the painstaking process, starting with a full photographic documentation of the book’s original condition and a detailed report outlining its damage, the planned treatment, and the materials to be used.
When Rathaus removed the old binding, she uncovered a surprise—a sheet of newspaper from 1906 tucked inside, revealing that the book had been rebound by the Jewish community in Berlin around that time.


After cleaning the pages using a specialized washing process—performed only after careful assessment to ensure it would not harm the book—the pages were significantly brightened, old adhesive and amateur repairs were removed, and the sheets were dried and flattened under pressure. Tears were repaired, disconnected sections were reconstructed, and the pages were carefully folded back into quires.
Finally, the book was sewn using traditional techniques with strong, flexible linen strips and rebound in a new cover. The entire process took seven months. For Rathaus, it was the largest bookbinding project she had undertaken—over 300 pages. “The day I finished, I felt euphoric,” she said.

***
What became of the old binding? In most cases, bindings without historical significance are archived or discarded. However, while presenting the Zohar at a Library event, Rathaus decided to display the old binding alongside it to illustrate the conservation process.
One of the attendees at the lecture was librarian Daniel Lipson, who, as part of his role, oversees the “Treasures of the Diaspora” project. Through this initiative, tens of thousands of books from the Jewish cultural and intellectual world—stolen by the Nazis and brought to the National Library through extraordinary efforts—were identified and cataloged. “Sometimes, these books are all that remains of an individual, a family, or a Jewish community,” Lipson explains, emphasizing the immense importance of the project.
During the presentation, Lipson noticed something unusual. Written in pencil on the binding were the letters “JC” and the number “13083.” Lipson immediately recognized the mark—it indicated that the book had not only been held by the Nazis at one point, it had also been cataloged and stored in the Theresienstadt Ghetto.

Lipson explained that, as far as is known today, during the bombings of Berlin in 1943, the Nazis sought a safer location to transfer stolen Jewish books they deemed valuable enough to protect. This is how the books ended up in the Theresienstadt Ghetto, which the Nazis also used as a “model ghetto” to present a facade to the world about the “good conditions” of Jews under their control. Among other facilities, the camp contained a library where professional Jewish librarians “worked.”
The books that the Nazis sought to preserve were cataloged by a group of prisoners. A booklet documenting this effort reveals that among the catalogers were Jewish librarians, historians, linguists, rabbis, and theologians. These catalogers were professionals, as evidenced by the organized index they created, which includes detailed entries for all the books they handled. The cataloging system ranged from JC 3001 (likely shorthand for “Judaica”) to JC 19225. After the war, this index was transferred to the Jewish Museum in Prague, digitized, and is now available for online searches. With a quick search, Lipson located the catalog card for the book in question, labeled as the Zohar From Mantua.
Survivors of Theresienstadt have testified that the work of cataloging and managing the library provided them with a small measure of solace and comfort during unbearable times. They also recounted that many Jews deported from Theresienstadt to extermination camps took with them one or two books on what would be their final journey to an unknown fate.
But this sacred book was spared from destruction. Printed during the early days of Hebrew printing in Italy, it endured a long and arduous journey. Generations of Jews preserved it—sometimes at great personal risk—until they were forced to catalog it for the Nazis’ library. After the war, the book was returned to the Jewish People. Now, following its conservation treatment, it will be proudly displayed in the National Library of Israel.

***
Another fragment of the Jewish People’s tumultuous history was uncovered within this book, reminding us of the central role the written word has played in Jewish history throughout the ages. Preserving it provided strength and a sense of purpose to those who cared for it, both in the past and in the present.
When you admire the beautiful volume of the Book of Zohar from its first printed edition, now displayed in the permanent exhibition hall at the National Library, remember that behind it lies an extraordinary story, secrets that were revealed, and countless hours of meticulous work. Its old binding is now also preserved at the National Library in Jerusalem.
