How could one note repeated four times show such demonstrative power to render a simple folk tune visceral? When violinist Itamar Zorman performed Josef Achron's Hebrew Melody, I couldn't be certain whether the dolorous strain was appealing to my Jewish ancestry or unearthing something deeper, perchance a primal yearning to return to a home of which I am not yet conscious.

I allowed myself to cry. I wasn't the only one.

The work was the encore for Zorman's recent recital at Wortham Theater Center hosted by Society for the Performing Arts.

Up until then, I was prepared to jot down a glowing review, the kind that is dotted with Hollywood-type movie remarks flashing across a silver screen — like riveting, gripping and two thumbs up. But in addition to having to scheme my escape in hopes of avoiding colleagues— because who wants to see a grown man cry — the whole premise of my critique was shot to hell.

Technique can be taught and practiced. Actually, the type of small muscle conditioning required to master a musical instrument is usually nurtured earlier rather than later, before one is aware of something being physically difficult.

That the Israel-born 28-year-old was proficient at the mechanics of violin playing was expected as one of the silver medal winners of the 2011 International Tchaikovsky Competition — Sergey Dogadin was the other. Two silver medals were given as the jury — Anne-Sophie Mutter, Maxim Vengerov and John Corigliano among them — didn't regard either contestant remarkable enough to deserve the gold despite the rules stating that first prizes are always awarded.

(The Tchaikovsky wouldn't be the same without controversy now and then. Heck, I think classical music could use more scandals like illicit affairs, fist fights, ringing phones, musicians losing it . . . anyone want to streak the Houston Symphony stage?)

What's puzzling is how someone at a young age — wearing pants two sizes too long — is able to subsume so much aesthetic puissance into miniscule sonorities? That I couldn't explain. Unless that's his 1745 Pietro Guarneri talking (on loan from Yehuda Zisapel's private collection), growing up in a musical family with a composer for a father and a pianist for a mother, or his studies at Juilliard and the Manhattan School of Music.

Surely, that's part of it, but not all. Whatever it is, I was able to understand finally why the Goettinger Tageblatt described Zorman as a "virtuoso of emotions."

It wasn't your typical chronological recital: No Bach to Mozart to a romantic showcase and contemporary blood bath.

Olivier Messiaen's Theme et Variations hinted at Zorman's expressive prowess. A golden thread connected note to note even through the most cumbersome of intervals of the 1932 duo. It is early Messiaen and nostalgically looks back at yesteryear's romantic ways with melodic writing that's rooted tonality. Zorman leaned into such sentimentality while soaring through dazzling technical passages.

In Robert Schumann's Sonata No. 1 in A Minor, Zorman's coloristic treatment of structural harmonic events bestowed surprise in an otherwise straight forward piece. In sotto voce segments, he bewitched the audience with seamless al niente attacks. When sketching out his path to climatic moments, he never rushed, pushed or sacrificed style for volume.

It was in the handling of pick-up notes in Franz Schubert's Rondeau Brilliant in B minor where Zorman showed maturity beyond his age. His bow arm bounced endless versions of a reoccurring rhythmical motive: Never repetitive, always inventive, at times playful, at others decisive.

The challenge in Ernest Chausson's Poème lies in convincing the listener that there's form to an evolving through-composed tone poem, or the performer risks losing artistic grounding in never-ending string of consciousness music. Having suffered through many student recitals attempting to pull it off, it was refreshing to bear witness to a live performance that considered macro and micro elements.

Saving the most popular for last, Camille Saint-Saëns' Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso in A minor verified Zorman as a young badass who's not afraid of anything. It's difficult to argue with delicious girthy G string riffs, musical fireworks and immaculately in tune soaring notes up in the stratosphere.

With freedom? Yes, but not over indulgent. Worthy of a gold medal.