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On his way to the departure gate, Yoel ponders the identical methods that control all the airports in the world. About how all the terminals are so similar to one another that, on the way to the boarding gate, it is hard to remember in which country one is and to where one is going. And how the seriousness with which human beings adhere to the system and cling to the appearance of law and order is so touching although, like the figures in Escher's engraving of the infinite house that keep walking and walking to nowhere, each and every person is also going to his gate and to his plane seat to fly from point to point on a tiny planet that is rotating about itself, and the only route on which they are really progressing is the one leading to their deaths.
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