A conversation has been unfolding recently within the Chabad community about the relationship between Chassidus and psychology, the place of therapy in a Chassidic life, and what happens when the teachings of Chassidus are translated into the language of contemporary emotional and psychological experience. These questions have generated considerable discussion, and I wanted to hear the different perspectives at greater length, directly from the people articulating them. So I sat down separately with Rav Sholom Kesselman and Rav Simon Jacobson for two extended conversations. This episode is my conversation with Rav Kesselman. My conversation with Rav Jacobson will be released shortly afterward. In both conversations, I've tried as much as possible to approach the discussion with an open mind and to give each perspective a fair hearing. Of course, like anyone approaching a subject they care deeply about, I have my own thoughts, intuitions, and feelings about these questions. But my intention has been less to argue for a particular position than to genuinely understand what each person is saying, what concerns animate their perspective, and what we might learn from taking those concerns seriously. As I listened to the conversation unfold, I kept hearing what seemed to me to be one remarkably simple question beneath everything else: Who, ultimately, is Chassidus about? Is its central subject the human being or Hashem? Is Chassidus fundamentally concerned with cultivating a particular kind of person—a particular inner world, emotional life, and state of consciousness—or is its ultimate concern the service of God? And perhaps the deeper question is whether these are really two divergent visions, or whether Chassidus understands the cultivation of the human being as inseparable from the service of Hashem. At the heart of the discussion is a fascinating question: What happens when we begin speaking about Chassidus in the language of therapy? For many people, words like presence, healing, and self-acceptance have made ideas they learned for years feel newly accessible. But words carry assumptions. When we translate a teaching into a different language, do we bring its meaning closer—or subtly change what it is asking of us? Rav Kesselman challenges the way teachings centered on serving Hashem can become centered on the self. I push back on how neatly we can separate those things in a person's actual life. If someone learns Chassidus and becomes more present with their children, more attentive to their spouse, and more able to connect with Hashem, where does psychological well-being end and avodas Hashem begin? We talk about the difference between bread and challah, what makes an insight about the human mind specifically Chassidic, and what we mean when we translate bittul. We also ask whether a new language can reveal something that was always present in a teaching but that we hadn't yet been able to hear. I found myself agreeing, disagreeing, and being caught off guard. My own sense is that this is a deeply nuanced subject, with sincere intentions and important concerns on different sides of the conversation. I don't think these questions are best approached as a contest with winners and losers. I think they're worth exploring patiently, thoughtfully, and in good faith. Ultimately, I believe conversations like these are not only necessary, but can deepen our appreciation for the inner dimension of Torah and its profound relevance to our lives. A note on the recording: We experienced some technical difficulties during this conversation. We chose to preserve that portion because we felt the conversation was worth sharing in full. We apologize for the imperfections and appreciate your patience and understanding.