THEATER REVIEWS : San Diego Rep Offers a Moody, Passionate ‘Dybbuk’ : Under Todd Salovey’s direction, the classic Jewish folk tale of thwarted righteousness and unrelenting judgment is challenging, involving.

There is a story at the top of the second half of “The Dybbuk” at the San Diego Repertory Theatre that describes a tightrope walker’s high-wire feat spanning a river.

If only, concludes the rabbi who tells it, if only people would put as much effort in developing their souls as they do their soles.

In every way, this is the message locked in S. Ansky’s undimmed turn-of-the-century classic. Steeped in Eastern European Jewish culture and orthodoxy, this tale of a bride who becomes demonically possessed by the soul of her dead intended illustrates what happens when a covenant is broken.

At least in Jewish lore.

Leah was promised to Khonnon at birth. Their fathers had been friends. But when life separated them, and Leah’s father, Sender, prospered while Khonnon’s did not, Sender conveniently “forgot” the bargain. He had a wealthier suitor lined up for his daughter, someone who could give her more than the impoverished student Khonnon. The pain of this betrayal kills the ardent Khonnon.

The God of the Jews is a just and angry God, certainly the one depicted here, and the law of the Talmud is specific and unbending. Deprived of the bride he so desperately yearned for in life, Khonnon is determined to have her in death. He enters her body to possess her soul and despite injunctions and exorcisms refuses to leave until he can take her with him.

“The Dybbuk” is at once high romance and fearful folk tale filled with thwarted righteousness and unrelenting judgment--as much an account of deep revenge as a love story. And director Todd Salovey has not backed off an inch from its harsh and fearful currents.

His majestic concept for the show at San Diego Rep is reflected in Brenda Berry’s furtive lighting and Neil Patel’s bleak design for the yeshiva (religious school or council) where the action takes place: a walled enclosure with a dirt floor and, slicing though it, a protruding log hollowed out to hold water.

All of the action swirls around this curious, symbolic object. It can be many things: the fissure that rends this place; the breach into which Khonnon has fallen (literally, as he dies); the arrow in the heart; the pool of tears that links Khonnon and his Leah.

Salovey resists explaining it or sweetening the pot. His vision is dark and rigorously unified, rich with careful detail, from the black Hassidic costumes designed by Mary Larson to the forelocks for the men by hair designer Wendy Sammons.

All the movement seems dreamily semi-choreographed, which suits the piece, since it is more a cautionary tale than a realistic story. The effect is mesmerizing, greatly enhanced by Yale Strom’s whirling klezmer music, a mixture of traditional Jewish chants and original composition played live on stage by Myla Wingard Frysh (violin) and musical director Mark Danisovzky (accordion).

Jon Matthews’ exalted Khonnon is a young man you cannot love so much as admire and fear. The intensity of his outrage at Sender’s betrayal is translated in a shrill cry of “Betrothed!”--repeated over and over--that tears the air and chills the heart. Ilinka Goya’s innocence as Leah is almost as remarkable, a docile child shaken to her foundation. Her terrified eyes betray the fierceness of a possession she only half understands. Khonnon and Leah’s final embrace--the one that snuffs the life out of Leah--takes our own breath away.

No one else in the company quite matches this high level of passion, but Bill Dunnam smartly provides a Sender who is more of a well-meaning bumbler than a knowing villain, and Douglas Jacobs and Kurt Reichert deliver rabbis who are strong, defiant and wise.

If the interpretation of plays is influenced by events that surround us, there is a lesson here about the difference between rigid fundamentalism and true morality. Couched in the trappings of the former, “The Dybbuk” is very much about the latter--a resistance to moral accommodation that is key to the endurance and survival of Jewish culture.

That’s the message of Salovey’s tangy and moody production, whose emotional evocations go well beyond Ansky’s script. Its imagery, music and ghost populations become at once cultural affirmation and experience--something dark and stern, whose provocations are not easy to forget.

* “The Dybbuk,” San Diego Repertory Theatre, Lyceum Space, 79 Horton Plaza, San Diego. Tuesdays-Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Sundays, 2 and 7 p.m. Ends April 10. $19-$24; (619) 235-8025. Running time: 2 hours, 25 minutes.

Priscilla Allen: Old Woman/Frade

Scott Coker: Student/Poor Person/Chassid

Julia D’Orazio: Ghost/Gittel

Bill Dunnam: Sender

Ilinka Goya: Leah

Douglas Jacobs: Second Batlen/Poor Person/Rabbi Azriel

Jon Matthews: Khonnon/Mikhoel

Sean Thomas Murray: Messenger

Seth Neely: Student/Poor Person/Chassid/Judge

Kurt Reichert: Meyer/Rabbi Mendel/Judge/Chassid/Rabbi Shimson

Leon Singer: First Batlen/Nachman/Chassid/Judge

Peter J. Smith: First Batlen/Menashe/Poor Person/Chassid

Eric Wallach: Ghost/Student/Chassid

Mark Danisovzky: Accordion

Myla Wingard Frysh: Violin

Director Todd Salovey. Playwright S. Ansky. Sets Neil Patel. Lights Brenda Berry. Costumes Mary Larson. Hair designer Wendy Sammons. Composer Yale Strom. Musical director Mark Danisovzky. Dramaturge Nakissa Etemad. Movement consultant Yehuda Hyman. Vocal coach Janet Reiter. Yiddish coach Libby Taylor. Stage manager Andy Tighe.